Under the Radar
by Esther-Channah
Summary: When Bruce Wayne finds himself in a bit of legal trouble in New York, he discovers that good attorneys are easy to find, but hard to keep in the dark—even when they're blind!
1. Prologue

A/N: Just an idea I've had kicking around...

A/N: Thanks to Kathy for the beta!

Disclaimer: Batman/Bruce Wayne was created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger and is owned by DC Comics. Dick Grayson was created by Bob Kane, Bill Finger, and Jerry Robinson and is owned by DC Comics. Nightwing was created by Marv Wolfman and George Perez and is the property of DC Comics. Daredevil was created by Stan Lee and Bill Everett and is the property of Marvel Comics. I am receiving no financial remuneration for this work of fanfiction.

Timeline: Daredevil near the end of Volume 1. Batman post-Knightsend, pre-No Man's Land.

**Under the Radar**

"Wow," Dick said. "So, what did you say?"

Bruce shook his head, walked to the hotel window, and pushed aside the draperies with his hand, and looked out on Water Street. "What could I say? I couldn't very well tell him the truth."

Dick laughed. "Yeah. I guess, 'The reason they found my fingerprints in that office was because I needed someplace secluded to get out of my costume' wouldn't have gone over too well." His expression turned serious. "You just had to find an office that someone had burglarized, right?"

Bruce scowled. "It wasn't burglarized. Someone got in, hacked the computer and, presumably, copied confidential data that will give them an advantage in the stock market over the next little while. The hacker got sloppy and triggered an alert. There are security cameras in the office; I was able to detect them and shield myself appropriately. Unfortunately, that made the presence of my fingerprints appear all the more suspicious."

"Wait... wouldn't they have caught the hacker, too?"

"They did," Bruce sighed. "Male, about my height and build, wearing a knitted cap pulled low over his head and a bulky jacket. They didn't get his face. But they did get mine."

"I thought you said you were shielded."

"In the office," Bruce replied. "Once I was back in street clothes, I headed back to the banquet hall to rejoin the others. As soon as I was out of the restricted zone, I turned off the jammer. And..."

"Don't tell me," Dick groaned. "You missed a camera."

"Oracle's information about the building's security systems appears to have been out of date," Bruce replied. "There was at least one camera that doesn't show up on the most-recently-uploaded floor plan. There could be more. However, the relevant device was facing the door that led to that restricted zone. It was about halfway down the hall. The fact that it captured me looking around to ensure that the coast was clear did not help my case." He shook his head. "The police questioned me. I thought I could handle it without an attorney present. Rae's vacationing in the Alps right now. While she would have cut that short and flown in, she probably wouldn't have made it to New York before tomorrow." He held up a hand irritably. "I know. Don't say it. So, after they accepted that they didn't have enough evidence to hold me, they advised me not to leave town—_and_ to find a good lawyer. I thought someone local might be to my advantage and Nelson and Murdock came highly recommended."

Dick nodded. "Okay, that makes sense. So you dropped by their offices..."

"I called first," Bruce corrected him. "I wasn't going to waste my time if they couldn't see me today, but I was told that Murdock could fit me in. He listened to my story and then..."

* * *

"_I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne." Matt Murdock rolled his chair back several inches from the desk, as though he wished to distance himself physically from the situation. "I can't assist you."_

_Bruce's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I don't understand."_

"_Neither do I," Murdock said in a voice that was calm, yet bristling with suppressed anger. "You come into my office with a serious issue. You realize that the situation puts you in a bad light. I tell you that in order to help you, I need to understand the facts of the case. And yet, Mr. Wayne, not only have you left out information that could be vital; you've lied to me twice in the space of ten minutes."_

_Bruce flinched. "I..."_

"_Can you tell me what you were doing in that area?"_

_Bruce was silent._

"_Mr. Wayne? I'm blind, remember? I can't tell if you're nodding or shaking your head. I need you to answer me."_

_Bruce sighed. "I told you," he repeated. "I took a wrong turn."_

"_Get out."_

* * *

"Wow," Dick repeated. "So, did you find someone else?"

Bruce shook his head. "By then, it was after four. I called a few other firms, but they weren't able to fit me in at that hour. They invited me to book an appointment, but the earliest time any of them could see me would be next week. I suppose," he added dryly, "that if their services are in such high demand, one can hope that they'll get results." He sighed. "At this point, I'm tempted to call Rae after all."

"Has she been to the Alps before?"

"I don't believe so."

"She'll hate you if she has to cut her trip short."

"I know." Bruce sighed again. "I suppose," he said, "it couldn't hurt to go back and check out that office again. The hacker might have left something incriminating behind."

"Mmmhmm," Dick nodded. "Just the hacker?"

Bruce made a face. "I doubt I was any sloppier than I already know," he retorted. "But another sweep of the room probably wouldn't go amiss."

"Want some backup?"

"Not tonight," Bruce said. "Get some sleep. Or patrol if you're feeling restless. I'll see you later."

Dick resisted the urge to tell him to be careful. Bruce had to be kicking himself enough already. Saying something like that would only set the bigger man off, and they'd been getting along so well lately. He sighed, reached for the phone, and dialed a number.

"Donna?" He grinned at the pleasure in her voice. "Hey, yourself. I'm in New York for a few days. Business trip and father-son bonding. Only Bruce had something else to do tonight. Did you want to—yeah, sure, coffee sounds great. See you in an hour? Looking forward..."

* * *

Batman swung across the Manhattan skyline, drawing ever closer to the offices of Baron and Baron Trading. He angrily suppressed a thought about the guilty party always returning to the scene of the crime. He needed answers and there was only one place he could get them.

The building was coming into view now. He frowned, trying to pinpoint the office through which he'd entered earlier that day. It had been on the west side, thirty-one floors up, but had it been the eighth window from the left or... _the ninth_. He cast his grappling line, sailed across the street, and dropped lightly to the window sill. Under his cowl, his face hardened. Someone was there ahead of him.


	2. Chapter 1

Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

**Chapter 1**

At first, Batman thought that his earlier musings about culprits returning to the scene of the crime had been accurate, but on a closer look, he recognized his error. The hacker, as he'd told Dick, had been about his height and build. This intruder was slimmer and lithe instead of muscular. Did the hacker have an accomplice? Whoever was inside, they were wearing something tight and form-fitting, though it was too dark to make out more than that. They also weren't using a flashlight or any other form of illumination.

"Enable night vision lenses," he said softly. In response to his voice command, there was a soft tone. A moment later, the lenses of his cowl shifted to green and he heard a low-pitched whine as the shapes and contours of the room before him came into clearer focus.

Beneath his mask, Batman's eyes narrowed. The intruder was wearing a cowled suit, much like his own, minus a cape. There was some sort of weapon in a holster strapped to his thigh. Sprouting from the cowl were two small devil horns. Batman's face set in an angry scowl. New York was lousy with costumes, both of the crime-fighting and the criminal variety—which begged the question: which one was this?

Ally or enemy, who knew what sort of mess they might make of the crime scene? He had to get inside before there was nothing left for him to find. He thought for a moment. Baron and Baron was in an older building; one where the windows could actually be opened. There were three of them opening into the office he needed to access. Batman swung lightly to the next window sill—the one that would give him the clearest path to the door, should he need access to the rest of the building. Then, from a compartment in his utility belt, he extracted a small set of burglar's tools and set to work. It might be thirty-one floors up, but the windows were still wired and Batman had no intention of tripping any alarms tonight.

* * *

It took Daredevil a moment to place the heartbeat. It wasn't one he was overly familiar with and the window glass muffled it slightly, but then, he'd encountered it only a few hours earlier and it was still relatively fresh in his mind. Beneath his cowl, his eyebrows lifted. _You are just full of surprises, Mr. Wayne_, he thought to himself. A moment later, he registered two more sounds: the whine of night vision goggles and the clean snap of copper wire parting between tungsten-carbide shears. While the whine didn't diminish, it was soon complemented by the nails-on-a-chalkboard effect of steel on glass. After taking out the burglar alarm, Wayne was using a glass cutter on the window pane.

He frowned. Whatever Wayne was wearing tonight, it wasn't the attire he'd worn at their earlier appointment. A cloak—or perhaps, a cape—flowed behind him, obscuring the contours of his body. There were two protuberances rising from his head and tapering to points. His frown deepened. He'd never been to Gotham City before. He'd heard of some of the people who operated there on either side of the law, but he had no idea who he was facing tonight. News stories often emphasized visual description, when they didn't rely on photos and video to enhance the coverage—and phrases like "wearing a purple suit" or "trailing a jet-black cape" were worse than useless to him.

Daredevil sighed. Until he knew whether he was facing a friend or a foe, he didn't want to engage. That didn't mean that he was about to withdraw until he knew what Wayne was after. He heard the faint scrape as a piece of glass came free of the window—Wayne must have had a suction cup on it, for it didn't fall—and felt the night breeze come through the hole it left behind. A moment later came the click of a latch and the creak as the window eased open.

He waited until Wayne entered through the open window. Then, in one quick stride, Daredevil moved to the opposite wall... and flicked on the lights.

Almost instantly, he was rewarded by an angry snarl, as Wayne reeled back, his arm over his eyes. Night-vision goggles had one very-easy-to-exploit vulnerability. Daredevil pulled his billy-club out of its holster. "You're a long way from Gotham," he said evenly. "Care to explain?"

He heard something whistle through the air and dodged on instinct as a small object flew past him and embedded in the wall. "I'll take that as a 'no,'" he said, holding onto one part of the club and hurling the other. Airline cable extended between the two pieces and streaked toward his adversary's legs, but the caped figure leaped upward and out of the club's trajectory.

"I suppose you're here to cover your tracks," Wayne intoned, as he flipped to a landing several feet away from him. His voice was harsh and gravelly. Had he not been positive of the identity of the man before him, Daredevil doubted that he would have connected the voice he was hearing now with that of the man who'd been in his office earlier. Pheromones and heartbeat didn't lie, though.

"Funny," Daredevil shot back, as he reeled club and cable back in, "I was just thinking the same thing about you."

Wayne stood there silently, as though expecting his mere presence to be intimidating. Daredevil sighed. "I don't suppose we can talk this over?"

"I have no quarrel with you," Wayne replied. "Just stay out of this." He moved toward the computer station.

"Sorry," Daredevil said, touching the control on the billy-club to separate the two halves and retract the cable. "Not happening." He advanced slowly. It wasn't lost on him that Wayne's attacks were aimed more to warn him off than actually hurt him. While he appreciated the thought, there was no way that he was letting the man get anywhere near that computer.

"Have it your way," Wayne replied. Quick as a cat, his hand shot out and grabbed one of the club-halves.

Without missing a beat, Daredevil smashed the other one down over the caped man's knuckles. There was a harsh hiss of pain.

Wayne released the club, dropped, and swept a kick toward Daredevil's legs. Daredevil flipped out of range, then surged forward again, clubs ready for battle. This time, Batman feinted and countered with a pressure point strike. Daredevil winced as his right arm went numb. Fortunately, he smiled, he was left-handed. He thumbed the button to release the cable, gripped its end, and whipped the weighted club toward Wayne's torso. Wayne dodged. The club kept going. An instant later, the sound of shattering glass filled the air—followed almost immediately by a security alarm.

Both men swore. Then Wayne shoved him hard in his left shoulder and took off through the empty window frame.

Daredevil stumbled, recovered his footing, and followed quickly, casting his club into the night and snagging a nearby flagpole. From there, he swung himself up to a nearby rooftop. He listened intently and frowned. There was too much noise, too many people, and with the office alarm still ringing in his ears, he couldn't detect Wayne's heartbeat anymore. He sighed. So far, this wasn't turning out to be one of his better nights.

Across the street, the alarm shut off and Daredevil relaxed for a moment. Then he realized that he was still hearing another sound, very close by, and just a touch softer than a heartbeat; a kind of intermittent beeping. His jaw hardened. He spent the next few minutes listening to see if he could find Wayne's heartbeat once more, even as he tried to tune out the beeping. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, but was probably more like about five minutes, the effect the nerve strike wore off and he brought his right hand to his left shoulder to remove the tracer that his adversary had tagged him with before leaping out the window.

"Nice try, Mr. Wayne," he said under his breath as he ground the device beneath his boot heel, "but no cigar."

* * *

Dick had just gotten back from meeting with Donna when Bruce returned to the hotel room. "Uh-oh," he said, taking in his mentor's demeanor at a glance. "I take it tonight did not go well."

Bruce stalked over to the twin bed nearest the window and sat down, a disgusted look on his face. "You've spent more time in this city than I have. What do you know about Daredevil?"

Dick blinked. "Well, it's not like we've worked together; more like waved to one another when we happen to pass by. He's good, though," he continued seriously. "In both senses of the word. Martial arts, boxing, and acrobatics; not to mention those billy-clubs. Not too big on gadgets and no apparent meta powers. Oh, and left-handed. Why?"

Bruce sucked in air and let it out. "He was there tonight. At Baron and Baron. We... had an altercation."

"Oh?"

Bruce sighed. "The office was dark. I saw him moving around and assumed that it was either the hacker or an accomplice." Briefly, he related what had happened. "Of course, I'd reviewed the files on known Capes operating in this city—on both sides of the law—before coming here, but the costumed population in Manhattan alone is over 700 percent of Gotham's and having a photographic memory means that I remember all the data I read. It doesn't mean that I can necessarily retrieve that data in a split second." He shook his head. "Initially, it was too dark to identify the costume. Then, after he pulled that stunt with the lights, I wasn't seeing much besides spots. It wasn't until I got out of there and plugged his details into the Batmobile's computer that I realized who I'd encountered. I lost the tracer's signal a few minutes later." He made a face. "If he hadn't been wearing a devil costume, I might have realized sooner that we were on the same side."

"Says the guy who dresses like a bat."

Bruce's lips twitched. "Point."

"I wonder what he was doing at Baron and Baron," Dick remarked. "I can see how, in light of what happened today, they might have wanted to bring in extra security, but Daredevil's not exactly part of Heroes for Hire."

"He might have some connection with the firm," Bruce said thoughtfully. "Come to think of it, his voice did sound a bit familiar. He could well have been at the meet-and-greet I attended yesterday morning, before I slipped off." A faint smile came and went as he continued talking. "I know this much: if someone had broken into _my_ company, _I'd_ certainly do my own investigation later that night, when things were quieter." He nodded again. "I believe that I'll have Oracle run a check on the Baron family; she may turn something up."

"Uh huh. Wait." Dick frowned. "You said Daredevil wasn't using a flashlight. Did he have night-vision lenses, too?"

"He must have," Bruce said wearily. "He could have turned them off just before he hit the lights... No," he sat up straighter. "Wait. Even if he had, his eyes should have still needed time to adjust, but he didn't hesitate for a moment." He thought for a moment. "If his lenses can compensate automatically for sudden changes in illumination... That might explain it." He exhaled softly. "Something of that nature would be extremely beneficial," he mused. "I wonder if there's a patent out."

"Now, why do I think that Waynetech's R&amp;D department is going to get some new instructions?" Dick grinned.

"It's a useful invention," Bruce pointed out. "I'm sure you can see the applications for the military, as well as law enforcement, security..."

"Showing up Stark Industries?"

Bruce assumed a self-righteous expression. "That was the farthest thing from my mind," he snorted. At Dick's raised eyebrows, he added under his breath, "And it would have been even farther from it if they hadn't secured the last four government contracts that Waynetech competed for."

Dick grinned. "Thought so!"

* * *

Matt was in the office early the next morning. Although his fingers moved rapidly over the Braille transcripts, had someone interrupted him, he would have been hard-put to explain exactly what he was reading. He listened impatiently for the elevator and, when the doors parted, a familiar foot-tread. As Foggy drew closer, Matt sighed. Going by the crunching, crackling, and smell of chemical preservatives, Foggy hadn't waited to get to his office before opening the bag of cheese puffs today. He'd also stopped at the deli on his way in; Matt could smell chipotle barbecue sauce, cheddar, and beef. His partner was clearly planning to eat lunch at his desk. He hoped the weather would hold up, because once that sandwich came out of its waxed paper wrapper, it was going to graduate from annoyance to full-blown health hazard and Matt meant to be down at one of his favorite lunch counters before Foggy dug in, if at all possible.

"Matt?" Foggy poked his head into the doorway. "I wasn't expecting you to be in ahead of me."

Matt pushed away the transcript and smiled. "To be honest, I wasn't either," he admitted. "I know you put in longer hours than I do and I was hoping to catch you before the day got underway."

Foggy sank into the chair in front of Matt's desk. "I've got 45 minutes before my first appointment and it's a new client, so there's nothing to review ahead of time. What's up?"

"Well," Matt sighed, "You remember my four o'clock? The one I threw out of here yesterday?"

Foggy tilted his head to one side. "The Gotham billionaire who would have paid any fees and expenses we asked without flinching or attempting to negotiate? The one who could have kept us in clover for a few months? The guy with the potential to send a lot of business our way, particularly if his company _is_ looking at opening up a branch in our fair city? No, Matt. I can't say I do."

Matt sighed again. "It just didn't add up. He was hiding something major. When I caught him, he didn't try to bluster his way out of it, I'll give him that. He stuck to his story and he was a lot calmer about it than most of the people I catch that way. Startled, not defensive."

"Okay," Foggy said slowly. "So..."

Matt hesitated. Although Foggy had recently found out about his double life, Matt wasn't about to confide such details about other 'costumes' to him, no matter what side they were on. "So," he said slowly, considering how much to divulge, "I went back to Baron and Baron last night to see if I could find something that would tell me why Wayne would have lied to me. I had company."

Foggy waited. After a moment of silence, he let out a long-suffering sigh. "You really aren't going to continue until I ask, are you?" Matt could hear the resignation in his voice when he continued, "Fine. Who?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Matt admitted.

"Excuse me?"

"It was someone in a costume. Not local. At least, nobody I know. If he has a connection with Wayne's predicament, I'd say it's a safe assumption he's from Gotham. Trouble is, I don't know who he was. We didn't really get around to introducing ourselves."

"And you think I can help, because..."

"Because if I describe what my senses were able to make out of the intruder and his costume, there's a chance that you'll recognize it from images that you've seen before." He smiled. "Be my eyes?"

"Pass me a pad and pen. I'll take notes." Matt handed them over. Foggy took a deep breath and poised the tip of the pen at the top of the page. "Okay, what do you got?"

"Male, mid-to-late thirties, about six-two, two hundred and ten pounds—most of it muscle..."

Foggy's pen scratched on the pad. "Got that. So, we know it's not Poison Ivy or Penguin."

"Long cape, full, scalloped edges. He's got a cowl, too. With horns, or maybe ears, but not much like mine. They'd be about," he held his index fingers several inches apart, "yea long and pointed."

Foggy's heart rate sped up. "I think I know," he said slowly, "but keep going. Anything else?"

"Yeah. I think he gets off on intimidation. He was definitely trying to strong-arm me into backing down, and he's got a voice with more gravel than a stretch of country road. Menacing. He's got combat skills—good ones; knows about pressure points for one thing, and he strikes to incapacitate—not kill. At least, he wasn't trying to kill _me_, last night."

"Okay, even if it wasn't for the costume, that should tell us it wasn't Joker or Deathstroke. Pretty sure I do know, but keep going."

"He also uses some kind of irregularly-shaped throwing knife. It's bigger than a shuriken, um... ninja star—"

"Hey, I watched Ninja Turtles, too; I _know _what a shuriken is."

Matt smiled at that. "I would have taken one to look at later, but things went south fast and I had to get out of there. He pinned some sort of tracer on me; I got rid of it. Then someone put a brick through a car window to try to lift a stereo and I got back to work. So?" He lifted his glasses slightly and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Does any of that strike any chords with you?"

"I think so," Foggy said slowly, with a note of awe in his voice. "I think," he said again, "you just met Batman."

* * *

Bruce made up his mind not to attend the second day of the conference. By now, news of his indiscretion would have circulated through Baron and Baron and, although part of him wanted to show up smiling and joking, making it seem as though yesterday had been an embarrassing misunderstanding, he knew that he needed this time to try to come up with a strategy to clear his name. And, he realized, he still needed to secure legal representation. He'd give it until five this afternoon. And then, if he hadn't found an attorney willing to see him by the end of the week, he was going to have to bite the bullet and call his regular attorney, who—as Dick had rightly surmised—would not be at all pleased to have to cut her vacation short and come down to New York.

"Will you please go for a walk or something?" Dick's voice broke into his thoughts. "You're giving me a headache with that drumming."

Bruce snatched his hand away from the desk guiltily. He hadn't realized that he'd been tapping his fingers on its surface. It was a bad habit he'd picked up as a child and thought he'd broken long ago. "Sorry."

"Finger-tapping, glowering while in civvies, _and _an apology?" Dick's smile belied the concern in his voice. "You're not coming down with anything, are you?"

For a moment, Bruce's glower deepened. Then he sighed. "This is not my city. If it were, I wouldn't find myself in this situation. I don't like being caught off-guard. I don't like being in a place that is just enough like Gotham to make me feel... off-kilter when things don't play out as anticipated." He shook his head. "Had this happened in Gotham, there would be contingency plans in play, which would have worked, in no small part, simply because of who I am. I don't have the same cachet here and it's costing me." He sighed again. "And there are far too many 'capes' to keep track of."

Dick walked over to Bruce and placed a hand on his shoulder. "So, you didn't recognize Daredevil. Big deal. It's not like he commutes to Gotham every other week."

"It's not just that." Bruce let his eyes close for a moment. "I think I really do detest these situations where I could clear my name in a heartbeat by admitting that I was Batman, and I'm not sure if I can do so any other way—and _no_, I am not thinking of admitting it."

"I know _that_," Dick grinned. "Admitting things isn't your style. I mean, you still haven't admitted that you let Alfred pick out my last birthday present."

"I chose the color."

"Bruce, it was a Maserati. It could have been lime green with pink polka dots and I would have loved it." He gave Bruce's shoulder a squeeze. "Though I will state for the record that blue was a good choice."

They shared a smile.

There was a knock on the door to their suite.

Dick raised an eyebrow. "I can get that. It'll give you time to jump out the window if it's the cops with a warrant."

Bruce waved him away. "I'll do it." He strode to the door and checked the peephole.

Dick heard his surprised grunt just before he pulled the door open. "Mr. Murdock," he said curtly. "What are you doing here?"


	3. Chapter 2

Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

**Chapter 2**

Matt straightened his tie and did his best to appear apologetic. "You aren't an easy person to track down, Mr. Wayne," he said. "I... was under some undue pressure yesterday and I think that might have colored my behavior at our meeting. I believe I owe you an apology." He smiled diffidently. "May I come in?"

Bruce regarded the other man for a moment. One eyebrow shot up, but he moved aside and opened the door wider. He took a moment to introduce Dick, wondering briefly when Murdock's smile broadened.

"If you turn around, there's a desk chair at two o'clock five or six steps away," Bruce offered. "Let me understand this," he said as he sat down on his bed. "You no longer think I was lying to you?"

Matt shook his head. "No, I know you were. I may have jumped to conclusions about how relevant your less-than-full disclosure might be to your case." He hesitated for effect. "In point of fact, I've been reliably informed that Baron and Baron had an unexpected visitor or two last night." He fought not to smile. Wayne was good at keeping his reactions in check. Had Matt not been observing him closely, he might well have overlooked the slight spike in his heart rate. He made a mental note to warn Clint Barton never to play poker with this man.

"Oh?" Bruce said, sounding only vaguely interested.

Matt nodded. "To be frank, when a potential client is less than straight with me, under most circumstances, I turn them down."

"Most circumstances," Bruce repeated.

"I do a fair amount of pro bono work," Matt said, "often with clients who feel they have no reason to trust the justice system and thus, no reason to cooperate with it. Obviously, you don't fit that category."

"Then...?"

Matt took a deep breath. "Daredevil vouches for you. He had his own reasons for checking out the crime scene and I've become aware that he's uncovered a few details that shed a new light on your situation."

Bruce's eyebrow shot up again. "Did he, now?" he asked. "Might I ask what?"

"I'd prefer to discuss it in more businesslike surroundings," Matt said smoothly. "Shall we say in my office? Around noon?"

There was that heart rate jump again, though there was no hint of undue concern in the other man's voice. "I believe I do have time at that hour," he replied. "I'll meet you there, then."

* * *

Once Murdock had left, Bruce turned to Dick. "You didn't tell me you knew him," he said.

Dick blinked. "I don't."

"Are you sure?" Bruce asked, frowning.

"Sure, I'm sure," Dick said. "Why?"

Bruce frowned. "Because when he came in, I got the feeling that he recognized you..."

* * *

Sometimes, Matt thought that the Fantastic Four had the right idea when it came to secret identities: forget the 'secret' part of it. He'd been ready to tell Wayne that he'd figured out exactly who he'd been fighting with last night and he had a pretty good idea as to why. Oh, he didn't know the particulars, of course, but clearly there was something shady going on at Baron and Baron and Wayne had been looking into it. Perhaps, Wayne had believed that it would be easier to investigate in his civilian identity; perhaps, there was some other explanation, but something had gone wrong and his presence had been detected, so he'd gone back after hours as Batman.

Under the circumstances, he would have had no problem coming clean to Wayne about his own costumed identity. The problem was, Wayne hadn't been alone in his hotel room.

Matt couldn't say that he knew Nightwing; it was more accurate to say that he knew _of_ him—as leader of the Teen Titans. He had first encountered that team several years earlier, after his move back from San Francisco. They'd been operating in New York for a bit before that, but the team of super-powered youths tended to deal with situations more serious than the street-level threats that were his specialty. Still, on his return to New York he'd done his best to catch up on what the other Costumes had been up to.

At the time, the news reports had been buzzing about Nightwing having replaced Robin as leader of the Teen Titans, while Robin seemed to have relocated back to Gotham. The name had meant nothing to Matt and he'd had a few concerns about a neophyte hero possibly getting in over his head. So, one night, he'd observed the team in action and discovered that, whoever else this Nightwing might be, he definitely knew what he was doing. After that, Daredevil had left them to their devices and gone about his own business. And if, occasionally, they encountered one another, things never went further than a friendly wave or other casual greeting. Still, he'd swung by Nightwing enough to note his distinctive heartbeat in passing.

He'd recognized it in the hotel room just now. And while Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson obviously knew each other, and Batman and Nightwing often worked together, Bruce Wayne might not _necessarily _know that Dick Grayson was Nightwing, or vice versa. At first glance, the odds were remote, but then again, there was a reason why they called them 'secret identities'. He and Spider-Man had known each other for years before they'd learned each other's identities and he _still_ didn't know a number of the Avengers in civilian life. Maybe the odds weren't that remote.

In any event, even if Matt hadn't officially taken Wayne's case yet, he was still going to apply attorney-client privilege and not discuss sensitive information in front of a third party, unless Wayne gave his direct consent. Hence, the noon meeting at his office.

Matt smiled. Foggy would be pleased about that, at least.

He stopped at Dean &amp; DeLuca on his way back to the office and picked up a selection of teas and coffees. Wayne would probably expect the best and Matt was always glad of an excuse to indulge his passion for gourmet.

* * *

"Am I catching you at a good time?" Barbara asked when Bruce answered his cell.

Bruce checked his watch. Manhattan traffic could be dicey, but something in him rebelled against taking the subway when he wasn't in disguise. He wished that Alfred could have come with him this time—the butler had a talent for navigating city streets that was, perhaps, matched only by the most reckless of cabbies—but Tim was looking after Gotham by himself in Batman's absence, and the newest Robin was still a bit wet behind the ears. Bruce might have _wanted_ Alfred to come to New York, but Tim _needed_ him in Gotham. "I have a few minutes," he said, knowing that he would have to call for a taxi soon, if he was to make it to Nelson and Murdock on time. "What have you found out?"

"Well," Barbara said, "your hunch was right. Lewis Baron, grandson of the CEO and currently AVP Customer Support, could be your guy. You've probably heard of him; he was considered a strong candidate for the US Olympic men's gymnastics team a few years back, but missed qualifying by a tenth of a point. Had a similar problem qualifying for the Pan Am Games, too. He's a bit on the short side, mind you, but there are ways around that."

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. "So he's known in athletic circles, but stays just enough under the radar not to be considered a top athlete."

"That's right. He officially retired from competitions a couple of years ago, when he was twenty-six and decided to devote himself to his family business fulltime. The media barely noticed. However, he does have skills. And smarts; he did a double degree Business Administration and Computing. He's twenty-eight, now; still young enough to be in this game."

"This is hardly a game," Bruce countered absently. He tried to place the name among the executives he'd met a day earlier, but couldn't. That didn't necessarily mean anything; an AVP Customer Support was no top-level executive. "Do you have a photo?"

"Sending," Oracle replied crisply.

"See what you can find out about how frequently Daredevil has been spotted in or around Baron and Baron," Bruce sighed. It wouldn't prove anything. His own patrols covered all of Gotham and, while he did, in fact, often gravitate toward the Old City Hall district, it wasn't because of Wayne Enterprises. GCPD headquarters was there, too. Still, if Baron and Baron enjoyed regular visits from a 'guardian devil', it would be one more thing to file away pending further evidence.

"Will do, Boss-man." She sounded a bit distracted. "Sorry, Bruce. JSA call coming in on a priority channel. Can I let you go?"

"Of course," Bruce replied. "I'll phone after I've reviewed the data." He ended the call.

Bruce studied the photos and the accompanying statistics carefully. Daredevil had been moving about too much for Bruce to get a fix on his height, last night. He guessed him to be in the neighborhood of six feet, though, perhaps five-eleven. Baron was five-eight; tall for a gymnast, but Barbara was right: he was probably a bit short for Daredevil. Probably. The office had been dark, Bruce had been off his game, and his vision had been affected by Daredevil's trick with the lights.

Still... No, he decided. Unless Lewis Baron wore some sort of lifts in his boots to give him additional height, he was not the man that Bruce had fought last night. And while lifts could easily add an inch or two, four inches would be far more noticeable. Bruce had learned that very little was truly impossible, but it occurred to him that he might be trying a bit too hard to make a square peg fit a round hole. He wasn't yet ready to eliminate Lewis Baron as a possible Daredevil candidate, but he was downgrading him.

He called Barbara back. "After reviewing the data," he said, "I believe we should keep looking. Narrow the search to candidates ranging from five-eleven to six-one and..." he reflected for a moment, "...one-ninety-five to two-oh-five pounds."

He ended the call on her acknowledgment. Then he picked up the room phone and made another call. This one was to the front desk—to order a cab.

* * *

In Murdock's office, Bruce declined the offer of coffee. "I have to admit," he said, "I'm a bit puzzled by your change of heart. When we spoke yesterday, you were extremely clear on where you stood."

Murdock nodded. "That was before I realized that there was more going on than what there seemed to be at first glance," he said.

Bruce frowned. "I'm not sure I understand."

"I'm not sure I do myself," Murdock admitted. "However, since then, I've learned that both Daredevil and Batman were spotted at Baron and Baron last night. It would appear that if, as you claim, you're an innocent bystander in all of this, you've gotten yourself involved in something a bit more serious than it appeared on the surface. I only know Batman by reputation, but that reputation tells me I wouldn't want to be on his bad side. I know Daredevil somewhat better—we have something of a working relationship. That is to say, I know him well enough to know that you don't want to cross him either. If you're on both of their radars, Mr. Wayne, you are in some serious trouble. I can help you," he added, "but I'll need to know everything you can tell me about how things got to this point. If you've been operating under some kind of duress," Bruce got the impression that Murdock was fighting not to laugh, "and that's the reason that you couldn't be straight with me, I'll need to know that too."

"And if I were to tell you," Bruce said slowly, keeping his amusement out of his own voice and trying to sound dismayed, "that I'd love to tell you what you want to hear, but unfortunately, I can't?"

Murdock was still smiling. "Then odds are that you've got enough on your plate already without adding in the need to secure legal representation. I'll take your case." He extended his hand toward across the desk. Bruce shook it.

"Right," Murdock said, "I'll have my administrative assistant draw up the papers and we can get to work." He got up from behind his desk, rising to his full height. "If you'll accompany me...?"

As Bruce got up, his eyes narrowed. It occurred to him that Murdock stood about six feet tall. And as he came around to get the door, Bruce noted a looseness to his stride that one generally saw only in trained martial artists. It was then that he realized why Daredevil's voice had been familiar to him last night.

"Mr. Murdock," he said slowly, "there is one thing that you should know. Batman is not investigating my involvement. You see, he and I have... something of a working relationship."

"Ah," Murdock said, "so a bit like mine with Daredevil."

"Actually," Bruce replied, "I'd say it's _exactly_ like yours with Daredevil."

Murdock smiled. "Now that we've got that out of the way, once you've filled out the paperwork, I think we'll need to sit back down and compare notes. I know this city a bit better than you do—and I don't just mean geographically. Tell me, Mr. Wayne," he paused, one hand on his cane, the other on the doorknob, "how much do you know about a man named Wilson Fisk?"


	4. Chapter 3

Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

**Chapter 3**

Bruce frowned. "If I recall correctly," he said, "Wilson Fisk was a well-respected businessman in this city until," he leaned forward slightly, "it was revealed that he was also the head of the New York underworld. Your doing, I believe?"

Matt inclined his head with a self-deprecating smile. "He has his own lawyers, of course. They were able to get most of the charges dismissed. The others are still making their way through the system. At the pace of an asthmatic snail." He sighed. "I cost him his reputation, at least. No legitimate enterprise in this city will have anything to do with him at this point, unless he has some sort of hold over them."

"I see..." Bruce said, still frowning. "I gather you're telling me this by way of letting me know that Fisk is a factor in _my_ problem."

"I believe so," Matt nodded. "I've been keeping an eye on Baron and Baron for some time. They used to handle a lot of business for Fisk. It all appeared to be legitimate, but part of the reason that Fisk was untouchable for so long was because his businesses formed an intrinsic part of this city's economic makeup. Major corporations, small start-ups, franchises, mom-and-pop convenience stores... He had a stake in an estimated 40 per cent of all commercial enterprise in Manhattan alone. He might have had layers of shell companies and dummy corporations to hide behind, but at the end of the day, he was running the show."

"Until you exposed him," Bruce said flatly.

Matt sighed. "That hurt him. It didn't stop him. And unfortunately, when he was out of the picture, the smaller crime bosses started jockeying for power and the violent crime rate increased significantly until he returned. He claims to be the victim of a smear campaign, and has given interviews in which he loudly proclaims his faith that the courts will exonerate him."

"The courts that are moving at the rate of an asthmatic snail," Bruce said, with a note of bitter levity.

"Yes. The fact is, as painful as it is for me to admit, the streets are actually safer when he's free. He can keep his people in line. And I can keep him from crossing certain lines."

"But you can't stop him completely."

For a moment, Matt appeared to be dejected. Then he lifted his head with a crooked half-smile. "Not yet." He lifted the earpiece of his glasses and ran his finger behind his ear. "I've had more luck going after his lieutenants, though I'd feel better about it if I didn't think that Fisk was tossing me a few crumbs to keep me off of his back. He owns a number of people in key positions: cops, judges, politicians... and, I suspect, more than one executive at Baron and Baron."

Bruce settled himself a bit more comfortably in his chair. "I was beginning to wonder how you were going to tie this in with my current situation."

Matt pushed his earpiece down again. "Not unsurprisingly, Baron and Baron—like many financial companies—publishes promotional literature that features testimonials from satisfied customers. Before Fisk's underworld dealings were exposed, his accolades were prominently displayed in many of their brochures. As a result, when his other business came to light, Baron and Baron did what they could to distance themselves, claiming that they didn't know who they'd been involved with. It's possible that they didn't. It's also possible that they condemned him with one hand, while continuing to accept his money with the other."

"I have someone who can run that sort of data for me," Bruce said slowly. "With all due respect, Mr. Murdock, I've been hearing a lot of speculation from you and, while I agree it sounds plausible, I prefer facts."

"No argument there. Okay. I'm going to make some telephone calls, check out Baron and Baron's case against you and figure out where to go from there. Meanwhile, I was thinking that we could go back to the building tonight and see if we can't find something when we aren't getting in each other's way."

"There'll be increased security," Bruce hedged.

"Yes."

"And the crime scene has likely been picked clean of anything useful."

"Now _you're_ speculating."

"True. There may be something useful on the computer."

"Yes. Although that's something I'll leave to you, since I'd need adaptive software to get anything out of it."

"I was wondering about that," Bruce admitted.

"What? Whether the blindness is an act? It is and it isn't. I can't see, but my other senses are a lot sharper than normal. I downplay that part of it when I'm not in costume. My enhanced senses are why I think that I might still pick up something at Baron and Baron. Certain scents and tastes can linger in an enclosed space for quite some time."

"You broke the window last night," Bruce pointed out. "I'd hardly call the space enclosed."

"True," Matt admitted, "but there wasn't much wind and, if security didn't keep the office door open for long, there wouldn't have been much of a cross-breeze. It's still worth another look. Plus, if anyone is on their way to our position, I'll hear them before you will. I could go on, but I think you can get the idea."

"But since you can't see, you won't be able to get anything off of the computer."

"Exactly."

Bruce nodded. "Ten tonight, then. The rooftop of Baron and Baron."

"Done."

* * *

"Your lawyer's hunch was right," Oracle informed him a few hours later. "I've been looking at police reports on suspects collared by Daredevil and cross-referencing them against records for companies owned wholly or partially by Wilson Fisk."

"And?" Bruce asked, already suspecting the answer.

"And... I'm noticing too many cases where the suspects have taken large amounts of cash, which they then use to purchase other instruments—wire transfers, money orders, that sort of thing. Then those instruments are used to purchase other instruments. After anywhere from five to ten separate transactions, the funds end up in the Caymans, and from there go through a number of shell companies, which ultimately invest the money with Baron and Baron." There was a note of admiration in her voice. "It's not so much that this is anything new—because it really isn't. As far as money laundering techniques go, this one's in the textbooks. But the sheer number of layers, the convoluted trails, the..." Her voice trailed off. "Actually," she continued wryly, "it's probably how _you'd_ set it up if you ever decided to turn to a life of crime."

Dick burst out laughing and Bruce glowered. He'd known that conferencing Dick in on the call was probably a bad idea, but he hadn't quite been able to put his finger on the reason why—until now.

"Noted," he said. "What did you find out about Murdock?"

There was a short pause. "He was born in Hell's Kitchen—bad neighborhood, by the way, though it's gotten better recently. Mother walked out on him when he was a baby; his father raised him on his own. You might have heard of Murdock Sr., if you followed boxing ten to twenty years ago—Jonathan 'Battlin' Jack' Murdock?"

Bruce frowned. "Junior heavyweight," he said slowly. "A solid fighter in his day, but kept fighting well past it. Wait," he said, remembering something else. "Shortly before his death, his career was starting to take off again, until he was killed outside Madison Square Gardens, less than an hour after winning his first championship prizefight in years."

"I'm impressed," Barbara admitted.

"The _Herald_ ran the story. I remember shaking my head at the irony," he replied. Then, getting back to the business at hand, he asked, "What else did you find out?"

"Well, Matt was always a top student. He lost his vision at fifteen, when he ran into the street to save a pedestrian from being hit by a truck that was illegally transporting radioactive waste through downtown Manhattan. One of the canisters fell from the truck and whether the lid wasn't fastened, or whether it somehow got dislodged by the fall, some of the chemicals splashed into his eyes. He's been blind ever since. It didn't stop him from finishing high school; he was class valedictorian, by the way. He attended Columbia on scholarship, graduating summa cum laude and valedictorian again." Her voice softened. "It was less than six months after his father's murder."

Bruce absorbed that. "When did Daredevil make his first appearance?"

"That's going to take a bit more digging," Oracle admitted, "and what turns up might not be completely accurate. Or, to put it a different way, there's a bit of a gap between the time that _you_ started going out to stop crime and the time that the media started paying attention. If I had to go by news reports to find out when Batman started operating, I'd likely be off by a couple of months. Now, I can try to check for reports like 'the suspect was left tied up on the doorstep of the police department,' but I'm going to be running into the same problem you did last night. Specifically, that there are a _lot_ of Capes operating in Manhattan. They don't all wait around to talk to the police when they've caught the criminals. There's also a team of mutants based somewhere upstate—they call themselves the X-Men. From what I can tell, they're on our side, but I'm sure you've heard the same political pundits I have on the so-called 'mutant menace'..."

"Alarmist bigotry," Bruce muttered.

"Yes, well, I'm just saying, I could picture a situation where they come into New York for whatever reason, witness a crime in progress and stop it, but then realize that if they approach the police directly, they might be taken into custody themselves, so they opt to just deposit the crook in front of the precinct and leave."

"I understand the reasoning," Bruce said impatiently.

"Look, all I'm trying to tell you is that if there's vigilante activity in Gotham, odds are it's us. In Manhattan? If there's no signature calling card, there are a _lot _of possible suspects."

"Hey," Dick broke in, "have you maybe thought of asking him? I mean, you _are_ going to meet him later tonight, after all."

"Dick," Oracle remonstrated, "don't spoil his fun!"

"This isn't _fun_, Barbara," Bruce countered, making 'fun' sound like a foreign word. "This is data collection."

"That which we call a rose..." Dick murmured.

Bruce glared at him. On the other end of the line, Barbara giggled. Dick grinned.

Shaking his head, Bruce exhaled. "Let me know what else you find out." He terminated the call.

"Mind if I tag along tonight?" Dick asked. "You might need a lookout."

Bruce considered. "It's not a bad idea," he admitted. "All right."

* * *

"Mr. Murdock?"

Matt smiled. To his radar sense, his secretary appeared as a silhouette standing in his doorway. "Yes, Josie?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you. You wanted me to let you know when those Braille records arrived?"

"Thank you," he said, reaching out for them.

Instead of placing them in his hand, though, Josie laid them carefully on the desk. "Okay, Mr. Murdock," she said. "They're right at... um... six o'clock!" she finished triumphantly. "Um... or should that be noon? Is it your twelve or my twelve?"

Matt's smile grew slightly forced. He rested his hand on the pile. "I've got them," he said. "And Josie?"

"Yes?"

He picked up on the nervousness in her voice. She was a temp who had been with the office for just over two weeks and she was still walking on eggshells around him. He wished she'd relax. "It's my twelve," he said, "but when I'm reaching out for them, it's okay to just hand them over."

"Oh," she said, crestfallen. "I see. Oh my gosh! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say 'see,' honestly! I am so—"

"Josie," he reminded himself that if he let his irritation seep into his tone, she was probably going to think that he really was offended by her use of visual terminology. In fact, he was just mildly annoyed by her assumption that using such terminology was insensitive. "It's okay to use words like 'look' and 'see' around me. I use them too. Just... talk to me like you'd talk to anybody else and pretend I'm wearing these," he touched his fingers to his eyeglass frames, "because I'm a movie star in disguise," he grinned. "Okay?"

"O-okay," Josie agreed, still not sounding convinced. "Uh... was there anything else?"

"Not right now, thanks. Just make sure you have those forms filled out and ready for Halliwell to sign by four."

"Yes, sir."

He couldn't quite suppress his sigh of relief, once she was out of earshot. He would have been lying had he said that he couldn't have predicted her behavior. There was almost always a period of awkwardness with a new employee as they both tried to get used to one another. His blindness only intensified it. Still, it would probably pass or, if it didn't, she would leave and he'd find someone else and start the cycle again. He hoped it would pass. He didn't really want to have to break in another new assistant so quickly.

With a mental shrug, he reached for the top sheet of paper and began to read.

* * *

It took him less than twenty minutes to go through the stack. When he was done, he sat lost in thought, one hand still resting on the pages. He and Bruce had a bit more in common than he'd realized. They'd both lost parents to violence and likely decided to turn to vigilante justice for more or less the same reason.

He considered the second set of documents he'd ordered; the ones on Batman. The man was reputed to have mastered virtually every known style of unarmed combat. When would he have had the time...? Matt checked the "Bruce" papers again and nodded. While still in his teens, Bruce had seemingly vanished, only to resurface nearly a decade later. Matt could guess how he'd spent the intervening years.

He let out a long breath. When he'd been younger, he hadn't had the time or the money to go abroad and study combat under the masters. Stick had sought him out for reasons Matt hadn't learned until years later. He wondered how much more he might have learned, had he had that opportunity. Then he smiled and shook his head. He couldn't change the past and, all things considered, he didn't think he was doing too badly with the training he did have.

He fed the pages into the shredder one by one before returning to his desk to review his next client's case.

* * *

That night, as Daredevil swung closer to the roof of Baron and Baron, he detected two heartbeats, both familiar. He smiled and picked up his pace. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting," he said. "Batman. Nightwing."

"I've filled him in," Batman said tersely. "Since you already recognized him in the hotel."

"Yes." He smiled apologetically. "It's heartbeats and pheromones. They're almost as distinctive as fingerprints, if you know what you're looking for."

"Ah," Nightwing nodded. "In other words, I should pretty much assume that if you seem taken in by one of my clever disguises, you're humoring me."

"Pretty much."

"Got it. So. What's the plan?"

Daredevil walked to the edge of the roof. "We go in on the west side of the building; the one facing on the alley. The security will be less tight there."

"How do you know...?" Batman started to ask.

"Because, no doubt thanks to last night's snafu, I'm hearing two heartbeats in the office that we were in last night. I'm picking up another dozen spread out on that floor, but more or less in a straight line; they're ranged along the hallway. And I'm picking up more on the floors above and below, but only on the south side of the building."

"Nice," Nightwing said admiringly.

"All right," Batman said. "Once we take out security, I'll handle the computer. Daredevil, see what else you can pick up. Nightwing, assist. If anyone comes in before I've extracted the data, handle them." Without another word, the caped vigilante strode briskly to the west side of the roof and stepped off, loosing a grappling line as he did.

"Does he always take command like that?" Daredevil asked with a faint smile.

"You have _no _idea," Nightwing replied fervently.

Daredevil shrugged. "If he's as good as his reputation has it, I haven't got an issue. Ready?"

"Yep."

They were halfway to their destination when Daredevil stopped. "What is it?" Nightwing asked.

The crimson-clad crime-fighter pointed to his left. "About forty yards over," he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "Inside."

Nightwing glanced in that direction. "Shades are drawn," he said. "I don't see any light coming through."

"It doesn't matter," Daredevil replied. "Even if I didn't know the heartbeat, I'd recognize the voice. Kingpin. Now what would he be doing here at this hour of the night?


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

A/N: Credit Daredevil Volume 3, #18 by Mark Waid and Chris Samnee for insight into how Matt's senses would be affected by an automatic sprinkler system.

**Chapter 4**

"How is it," Nightwing asked, "that you didn't notice him until now?"

Daredevil sighed. "One problem with enhanced senses is an enhanced noise-to-signal ratio. I was listening specifically for personnel in the area we want to reach. Taking on the whole building would have been overwhelming. Still," he said slowly, "I know Kingpin well enough that I should have caught his heartbeat, had he been there all along. My guess is that he only arrived while we were on the roof and took the elevator up."

"Ah." Nightwing thought for a moment. "Batman's expecting backup. Do you want me to fill that role and leave Fisk to you?"

"Tempting," Daredevil admitted. "But no. This is a team effort. I know where to find Fisk when I need to." He jerked his billy-club free of its mooring and hooked it around another projection, several yards below their position. "Let's go."

* * *

Security was less tight this far from the restricted area. Batman had the alarms deactivated in almost no time. He was prying the emergency fire door open when Nightwing and Daredevil joined him. "What kept you?" he growled, intent on his work.

"Found out an old friend is on the premises," Daredevil muttered. He brought Batman up to date quickly.

Batman grunted. "Should we be concerned?"

"Only if he decides to engage us directly," Daredevil replied. "Not his usual style, unless he's cornered. He still wants to have plausible deniability when his schemes go awry."

"Good to know," Nightwing smiled. As Batman pushed the door open, they found themselves in an unlit corridor.

Batman turned to Daredevil. "I'd prefer not to suffer a repeat of your trick with the lights," he said tightly. "Is this hallway clear?"

Daredevil smiled. "Nothing to bump into, but it smells like they cleaned the floor within the last hour or so. There might be a few slippery patches; they used a melamine solution."

Batman grunted again. They moved carefully, Batman and Nightwing following closely behind Daredevil, relying solely on the faint illumination that came from the cracks under the office doors. Shortly before the end of the corridor, Daredevil whispered, "Wait."

"What?" Batman demanded.

"I make out a dozen heartbeats on the other side of the stairwell door."

"Do they know we're here?" Nightwing asked.

"I'm not sure. Well. I'm pretty sure they know somebody is here, but whether they're aware that it's us is a different story."

"And we need to open that door to get where we're going."

"Yes," Daredevil confirmed. "Unless you'd prefer to go back the way we came and try a different route in."

"We're not turning back," Batman said. "And since we know they're out there, they won't have the advantage of surprise."

"True," Nightwing said slowly. "But _we _do..."

Batman turned to Daredevil. "How badly would a smokescreen affect you?" he demanded.

Daredevil smiled. That would get them through the ambush faster. "What are you using? Titanium dioxide?" It was an educated guess. Most of the other common agents caused skin irritation, burns, or worse. Titanium dioxide wasn't harmless, but it would achieve the desired result with fewer harmful side effects.

If Batman was impressed, he didn't show it. "Yes."

Daredevil nodded. With his enhanced sense of touch, he'd still probably feel the sting on any exposed skin, but he could deal. Particularly since his costume covered everything but the lower half of his face, and there was a way to protect that. "If you have a spare breathing mask, I should be fine." Wordlessly, Nightwing held something out to him. He took it. "Thanks," he said, putting it on.

A moment later, Batman pushed open the door, quickly lobbed something into the stairwell, and slammed the door shut again. Almost immediately, they all heard cries of alarm and coughing, followed by quickly-retreating footsteps.

Batman pushed the door open again and the three started down the stairs.

As they reached the first landing, an alarm klaxon began blaring directly overhead. Daredevil stifled a cry of pain and clapped both hands to his ears.

Nightwing grabbed him. "Come on!" he said, hoping that Daredevil could understand him through that noise.

The crimson swashbuckler managed a nod and a step forward.

That was when the automatic sprinklers came on.

* * *

Daredevil had known that, sooner or later, someone was going to use one of those systems against him. He felt like he was getting pelted by hailstones. The high-pressure water discharge muffled all other sounds and negated his sense of smell. It worked like chaff on his radar, causing him to lose his bearings.

He seized hold of the banister with one hand and considered his options. The deluge from the sprinklers showed no signs of stopping and he wasn't about to stand around waiting and hoping that it would end soon. He wasn't sure whether Batman and Nightwing were still with him or whether they had moved off, assuming that he would be right behind them. He took a cautious step forward.

Someone gripped his elbow then and he slid into a defensive posture. The hand withdrew. A moment later, Daredevil felt something press into his hand. It was flat with sharp, curved edges, and slightly wider than his palm. He smiled. He'd never held one before, but he remembered the contour of the throwing knife that Batman had embedded in the office wall the night before. This had to be another one like it. He relaxed. Somehow, he didn't think that a hostile would be pressing a weapon on him. This time, when he felt the grip on his elbow, he nodded and let Batman guide him down the stairs to the next floor.

The sprinklers continued raining upon them as they moved.

* * *

"They're on thirty-five, Mr. Fisk," the technician said. "Moving west."

"Keep using the sprinklers," Kingpin ordered. "I want them in no shape to resist when I send in my people to finish the job."

"Acknowledged. Uh..."

When the technician didn't continue, Fisk laced his fingers together and flexed them. "Well?"

"They're attempting to get into the R&amp;D lab. If we turn on the sprinklers in there, I can't guarantee that the data on the computers will survive intact. Some of those projects are highly classified. While backups are generally a wise precaution, given the sensitive nature of some of that material and the repercussions should a copy fall into the wrong hands, I'd be remiss if I didn't consider the possibility that, should we lose those computers, we might stand to lose a significant amount of our research." He turned nervously to Fisk. "Those computers are on their own network. I can't remote-hack or otherwise extract their data from here. If we lose it, it could set us back weeks."

"I understand your concern." Fisk's voice was calm, but one hand clenched around his armrest. There was a cracking sound. He glanced at the third man in the office. "Well?"

"The sprinklers are hindering them, not stopping them," the other man pointed out. "There's a decent chance that we'll destroy our research and they'll still fend off our squadron. If that happens, it really won't matter if we manage to throw them off our trail or not. We'll still be finished in the industry." He shook his head. "I don't think we'd be able to recover from a setback that huge."

Fisk nodded. "Very well, Lewis." He turned to the technician. "Keep the sprinklers running in the corridor for as long as you are able. Perhaps, we can contain our intruders for the time being. Meanwhile," he leaned comfortably back in his leather armchair. Although he still addressed the two men in the room, he glanced intently at a shadowed corner of the office, where a third figure stood silently. "I'll listen to your suggestions for a more permanent solution to this problem..."

* * *

It was dry inside the lab, but they could still hear the water spraying down in the hallway outside. Nightwing leaned against the door. "I think I just figured out why the New York metro area is at second-highest risk for water scarcity," he announced.

Batman turned to Daredevil. "Are you all right?" he demanded.

Daredevil nodded. "Thanks. I didn't mean to—"

"It was disorienting for us, as well," Batman cut him off. He stalked off to the far wall and made a disgusted noise. "These windows are barred. It'll take more time than I'd like to cut through them and..."

Nightwing finished the sentence. "...and there's no telling whether an acetylene torch won't set off the sprinklers in here." He frowned. "Hey. It's stopped out there."

"They don't need to flood the hallway, if we aren't in it," Batman pointed out. "Should we venture outside this office, they can always turn the sprinklers back on."

"Why haven't they turned them on in here?" Daredevil asked. "Whoever's controlling them almost took us out from a distance."

"Almost." There was a note of triumph in Batman's voice. "I have someone in my corner who's able to hack some of the systems here. She's working on accessing the others, but for now, she was able to locate an area that our observers would be loath to deluge. She was also able to uncover the file with the pinpad code to unlock the door."

"Why?" Daredevil massaged his forehead with both hands. "What's so special about this room?"

"It's part of their R&amp;D department," Batman answered. "Completely cut off from the main network, with very little stored in the cloud. If these files go, and if there are no backup files, all the data goes with them."

"How do you know that there are no backups?"

"I didn't. I suspected. The fact that the room is still dry bears out that suspicion."

Daredevil smiled his appreciation. "Thanks."

"Don't thank us yet," Nightwing said. "We're still sitting ducks in here." He made a disgusted noise. "If we have to fight our way out, I'd rather not do it with the bad guys calling the shots. Like this, they can hold us at bay with the sprinklers until they can get an army outside the door."

"And if we go out," Daredevil sighed, "they can use the sprinklers to herd us anywhere they want to." He frowned. "Tell me I'm not holding you back."

"No," Batman said tersely. "Nowhere near as much as insufficient equipment is, at any rate. If we were back in Gotham, I have equipment at my base of operations that could counter these defenses. I have an... aide who could assist somewhat in delivering that equipment. In New York, we're down to what we're carrying with us right now. None of which will prove helpful against a sustained attack by those sprinklers. We'd need to shut them down at the source."

"Which we can't get to without having to deal with the sprinklers," Nightwing sighed. "They've proven they can monitor us."

"What about your hacker?" Daredevil asked. "Can she do anything about it?"

"Not without letting them know that they've been hacked," Batman said. "If at all possible, I'd prefer not to disclose that much to our adversaries."

"He gets more mileage out of people thinking he's doing it all himself because," Nightwing dropped his voice an octave, "he's... _Batman_."

"Next mission," the caped crusader growled, "you're staying in the hotel." To Daredevil, he said, "While Oracle is not without defenses, I am concerned about their effectiveness, should someone with Fisk's resources be able to trace her location. I won't ask her to compromise her safety. She'll communicate advice to us: passwords, building schematics, and the like. I draw the line at asking her to infiltrate their security systems directly or otherwise letting our adversaries know that she's involved."

"He also won't tell her he said that or she won't take his calls for a week," Nightwing added.

Daredevil smiled. "So, we're on our own," he translated. "Fine. " He turned to Batman. "Earlier, you said that you were shielded from their cameras before."

"I was," Batman confirmed. "I had another advantage then. They didn't know where I was. Now they do. The instant we crack open the door to this office, even if they can't see us, they'll know we're on the move and they'll keep the deluge coming."

"Is there another way out?" Nightwing asked. "A fire escape?"

"Ten feet down the hall in one direction, fifty feet down the hall in the other," Batman replied. "Safety regulations don't require an emergency door in every room."

All at once, Daredevil smiled.

"What?" Batman snapped.

"Why haven't they come in to try and rush us?" he asked.

"We've been over that."

Daredevil sighed. "Think of this as courtroom practice. You respond that way under cross and any lawyer worth his salt will demand you answer the question. Humor me."

"With the sprinkler system outside," Batman said irritably, ignoring Nightwing's muffled chuckle, "they can afford to wait and plan. They have no need to force their hand, yet."

Daredevil's smile was back. "What if they did?"

"Explain."

"Why haven't they turned on the sprinklers in here, yet?"

Nightwing sucked in his breath. "Because they don't want to risk losing their data!" he said, beginning to see what Daredevil was leading up to.

Daredevil nodded. "So, if someone in this room—someone without authorization—was to try to access that data... Say, maybe someone with a hacker in their corner..."

Nightwing began to laugh. "Assuming that they _really_ can't afford to lose what's on these systems, they'll almost _have_ to engage us now. With fewer people and maybe even poorer armaments than they'd prefer."

Batman nodded slowly. "It's better than waiting for the inevitable. And we may learn something useful." He paused for a moment, thinking. When he spoke again, his voice was brisk. "The two of you, guard the door, for now. Nightwing, if there's time to unlock two computers, I may need you. At the moment, just stay alert for any surprises. I'll have Oracle walk me through this."

As the two other men complied, Daredevil said, "So. 'Oracle' is the hacker in question, I take it?"

"And much more," Nightwing replied.

Daredevil smiled. Nightwing's tone painted a clearer picture of his feelings toward this Oracle than a thousand words ever would.

* * *

Watching the office on one of the many security monitors of Baron and Baron's control hub, Wilson Fisk gripped both armrests of his chair so tightly that the wooden supports—already weakened from similar treatment earlier—splintered.

"M-Mr. Fisk!" the young man at his left gasped in horror. "Are you hurt? I can get a first-aid kit. I am so sorry. Someone must have tried to pass off shoddy f-furniture. I'll get to the b-bottom of it. I'm so sorry..."

"Remain here, Lewis," Fisk replied. His voice was calm, even benevolent, betraying no hint of the temper that had caused him to destroy the chair in which he still sat. "Tell me. What are the possible repercussions if they are able to extract that data?"

Lewis swallowed. "We... it depends on the terminal. Some of it is relatively innocuous. Marketing research and the like. However, about half of our team is dedicated to facilitating your needs. Although you aren't mentioned by name, anyone with a clear idea of your holdings and the distribution of your finances would be able to identify you in short order. Should that come to light, I wouldn't be sanguine about our odds of coming through the fallout unscathed."

"And if we turn on the sprinklers?"

Lewis swallowed again. "We... well, we didn't keep scanned backups of most of what you gave us, for fear of discovery. We're currently being audited. I don't think I need to explain what could happen should a third-party regulatory commission discover what goes on here..."

Fisk leaned back in the remains of his chair. "I'm grateful for your vigilance," he said. "You could not have predicted this. Very well. Destroying the records is unacceptable. Allowing them to uncover them is worse. Your team is still five floors below them?"

Lewis nodded. Fisk turned to the technician, who had been listening silently to their conversation. "Lock all access points to that area except for the stairwell closest to the R&amp;D office. Lewis. Assemble your team in that stairwell. When all are present, send them in carefully. Let your people wear our intruders out. Then..."

Lewis nodded. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silken hood, which he slid it over his head. It covered his face balaclava-style. "Then I'll go in with Team Two and pick up the pieces."

"Use caution, Lewis. We may have them cornered for now, but that will, assuredly, make them more dangerous."

"True," Lewis acknowledged. "But they've got us pinned down, too. We can't let them get their hands on what's stored on those systems. So, I guess it's up to me and my people to stop them."

Kingpin nodded approval. "Carefully, Lewis. They may not use lethal force, but they are dangerous."

"Call me Zeren," Lewis said, as he began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a form-fitting costume beneath. "And so am I."

After the younger man left, Kingpin turned to the other figure in the room. "Well?" he rumbled. "Your thoughts?"

The woman came forward, a faint smile on her face. "He will fail, Kingpin. He's a solid enough fighter and a superior athlete, but to engage even one of those three, he would have done better to have those strengths reversed."

"I concur," the large man nodded. "So. It appears that tonight, I will need to engage your services further. You've trained my people well. Your advice in this matter has proven invaluable. But I believe I will need you to step in and show your best student," he pointed to the monitor that showed Zeren making his way down the corridor, "how much more he has to learn."

Lady Shiva's smile grew predatory. "And their disposition?"

"Much as I would like them out of the way permanently," Kingpin sighed, "I think I must leave them alive if possible." His expression was sour. "I have no wish to engage the Avengers or the Justice League at this time and, should those three perish or disappear, one or both of those groups will likely investigate the circumstances. Incapacitate them. Humiliate them. And if, despite your best efforts, you should happen to kill them, I trust you know how to dispose of the bodies and the evidence?"

"You must think me an amateur if you can ask that question," Shiva sniffed. "But never fear. I'll keep them alive, since that is your preference." She glided toward the door.

As she slipped out of the room, Kingpin sighed tolerantly. He'd fought Daredevil before on numerous occasions and he had more than a passing familiarity with Batman and Nightwing's prowess, as well. Lewis Baron was doomed to failure before he'd even left the room. He had better hopes for Lady Shiva, though he wasn't fool enough to assume her victory was guaranteed either.

However, between the initial security team, Zeren's elite squadron, and Lady Shiva, there was a good chance that—by the time the vigilantes caught up with him—they would be weary and spent. They might be sporting fresh injuries. When Kingpin stepped in—as he knew he might have to—the odds, already stacked in is favor, would be significantly improved.

Much as he didn't like getting his own hands dirty, he had to admit that he was looking forward to the opportunity to engage Daredevil once more. As for those other two... well, the more the merrier.


	6. Chapter 5

Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

**Chapter 5**

He was leaning against the wall next to the door, trying to be patient while Batman worked, when he heard them. Immediately, he snapped to attention and assumed a fighting stance. "A dozen, at least," he said tersely to Nightwing. "Coming up the stairwell to the east of us. Rubber-soled shoes; loose strides; making a bit too much noise to be seasoned professionals. Heart beats are pounding a bit harder than they should be if they're pros. My guess would be that they have skills and training, but not much experience." He sighed. "They're probably hoping to use us to make a name for themselves."

Nightwing made a disgusted noise. "I get enough of that on my home turf," he muttered. "I think it's that whole 'knowing-we-don't-kill' thing that gives them the nerve to try it. That and every now and again, Penguin slaps a bounty on our heads."

Batman lifted his head from the computer terminal at that. "Penguin knows he'll never have to pay it. Meanwhile, it earns him some popularity, the underlings hoping to displace him have something else to preoccupy them, and we waste time dealing with the lowlifes, while he tries to set a grander scheme in motion."

Daredevil pulled his billy-club out of its holster and twisted the two sticks into a staff, noting that Nightwing was now holding two long sticks, slightly narrower than his own weapons. Escrima sticks, unless he missed his guess. "We'll have to compare notes, once all this is over," he said.

Batman grunted. Nightwing laughed.

* * *

Nightwing had to admit that their opponents had some talent. They moved with a fluid grace born of long training hours with skilled instructors. They wasted no energy on defiant shrieks. Their moves were solid and devoid of grandstanding and posturing. Then again, there were only a dozen of them, so it was scarcely a fair fight.

"Forget comparing notes," he grinned, aiming a strike at one adversary's temple with the escrima stick in his left hand, while he disarmed a second foe with the stick in his right. "Seems like we've both learned a lot of the same—" A grunt from directly behind him made him spin, just in time to see a third figure crumple in the face of an extended billy-club. He grinned. "Thanks." He went back to his first two opponents, felling them with a succession of quick, brutal strikes to arms, chest, belly, and skull. Then he leaped back, braced himself against a shelving unit and delivered a twisting split-kick to knock down another ninja, who had been lunging for Daredevil. "Let me return the favor."

The crimson swashbuckler didn't turn around. Instead, he rammed his staff sideways into the abdomens of two more foes, knocking the wind out of them. "Appreciated," he said, with a smile in his voice. Then, more harshly, "Your left!"

Nightwing spun automatically, His first strike found his opponent's throat. A split-second later, his second hit a pressure point on the man's right arm. The ninja's weapon—a wicked-looking dagger, clattered to the floor. "Thanks," he grinned. "As I was saying," he sidestepped his opponent's kick and used a leg-sweep to knock him off of his feet, "forget comparing notes. I can't believe we've never found time for a friendly workout."

Daredevil handily dispatched three more foes with his staff. When an opponent with a staff of his own managed a blow to his wrist, the crimson-clad crime-fighter lunged and shouldered him back. The ninja crashed into one of the long computer tables, sending a monitor crashing to the floor. Without hesitation, Nightwing caught the arm of the last ninja, who had thought to sneak up behind him, and flipped him over the table and onto his companion. His head hit the edge of the table and he slumped, dazed.

"We may need to do something about that," Daredevil admitted. He popped open the end of one billy-club and extracted a length of cable.

"Here," Nightwing held out a number of long strips. "Plastic handcuffs. I've got a bunch."

Daredevil accepted them with a smile and set about helping Nightwing secure their attackers. "More coming," he said with a frown. "About two minutes away."

"Batman?" Nightwing called, "how are you doing?"

Batman sounded preoccupied. "I've almost finished extracting the data from this one. I haven't had the opportunity to examine it."

"And you won't," a deep self-assured voice sounded over the intercom. "This ends now."

The laboratory door slammed shut and a series of loud clicks told the three men that they were sealed inside.

A loud hiss directed the three men's attentions to a vent set high in the wall near the ceiling, where a sickly gray cloud was beginning to emerge.

"Gas masks," Batman said tersely.

As they hastened to comply, from a speaker in a corner, a vibrating whine filled the room, growing quickly in pitch and intensity. Daredevil was the first to cry out as the sound overwhelmed them.

* * *

Sometimes—like when he came to after a blow to the back of the head with double vision and a beaut of a concussion—Nightwing considered incorporating an armored cowl or helmet into his next costume redesign. At times like this, though, he had to admit that such protective covering would have made it harder to insert earplugs quickly and effectively. As he dislodged the earpiece of his comm-link, his eyebrows shot up. The sonic whine was still bad, but nowhere close to what it had been an instant ago. With the insertion of the earplugs, the effects faded to a much more manageable level. Which meant... _the weapon was riding the radio frequencies._

Nightwing gritted his teeth and took stock. His ears were still ringing and his brain felt like Jell-o, but years of training and experience had taught him to work through high levels of pain and discomfort. 'Discomfort' was the operative word; while the sonics were doing a number on his ears, the minute amount of gas he'd been exposed to before donning his mask made his face itch ferociously. He couldn't think about that now. Bruce and Daredevil were both down and, with the cowl radio, Bruce might actually be in worse shape. Daredevil was probably just picking up whatever stray sound waves were leaking out from their radio receivers. Well, Nightwing reflected, maybe he could do something about that—if whatever it was that was doing this was nearby. Now where...? His eyes narrowed. _There_. Doing his best to ignore the pain that made him feel like his head was in a vise and his guts were in a knot, he hurled a nightarang at a wire mesh cage fastened high on one wall. The mesh parted and he threw a second one. The third went through the grate and impacted the delicate machinery behind it. The residual sound deepened in pitch, becoming less of a weapon and more of an irritant. Not quite as irritating as the gas, though, he thought darkly.

Nightwing reached into a boot compartment and pulled out a bolo. He whirled the three weighted balls over his head and let fly. The speaker shattered. Silence reigned.

Nightwing looked around. Batman and Daredevil were both down for the count, but Daredevil was in worse shape, so Nightwing moved toward him first. "You okay?"

Daredevil didn't respond to his voice, but when Nightwing reached out and tapped his shoulder, the crimson crime-fighter rolled over. "NIGHTWING?"

"Whoa! Keep your voice dow—."

"THANKS. I WASN'T EXPECTING THAT," Daredevil shouted. He groaned. "MY EARS ARE STILL RINGING. I CAN'T HEAR A THING."

Well, at least that explained why he was shouting. Hopefully, it would pass soon; he wasn't sure how they were going to communicate otherwise. He was about to check on Batman, when he heard the door bolts retracting. With a scowl, Nightwing rose to his feet and readied his escrima.

"TROUBLE!" He yelled. He wasn't sure if either companion had heard him—or if either would have the sense to stay down if they hadn't recovered from the last attack. From what he'd seen of Daredevil, and from what he _knew_ of Bruce, he wasn't betting on it.

* * *

Behind his mask, Zeren smiled. The sonic weapon—a gift from one of several organizations with whom Baron and Baron currently had dealings—had performed as well in the field as it had in simulation. A higher setting would have caused permanent damage to their intruders, but he didn't know enough about what it might do to delicate electronics. It had been created to jam radio communications, but in development, they had discovered that, if the device wasn't calibrated exactly right, it could do quite a bit more. Zeren knew of several mercenary and criminal outfits that would be interested in such 'drawbacks'. When it came to the family business, though, he needed to be a bit more circumspect. His uncle might leave him to his own devices for the most part, but Zeren doubted he'd be sanguine about the cost of replacing thousands of dollars of equipment. And the lost data might be irretrievable. Besides, had the sound waves shattered lights and windows, Zeren wasn't positive that he'd be able to feed building security a plausible explanation for not involving the police, once they saw the extent of the damage. No, the lower setting had been a wiser move. The intruders were injured and off-balance now. They would be easy pickings.

He charged into the room, eight warriors close behind him. A billy-club slammed into his kneecap. "JUST BECAUSE I CAN'T HEAR DOESN'T MEAN I CAN'T FIGHT," a harsh voice bellowed.

Someone in blue and black sailed over Zeren's head to square off against his men, escrima sticks moving so fast that they were barely more than a blur of activity.

As he prepared to face the furious vigilante in scarlet, it occurred to Zeren for the first time that he might be in far over his head.

* * *

Batman was well aware of the battle raging steps away from him. At the moment, though, the bulk of his attention was devoted to getting himself past some of the nastier side effects of the sonic weapon. His stomach was causing him more problems than his ears at this point. The stale rubber odor of the inside of the gas mask wasn't helping him in the slightest.

Very cautiously, he peeled back one glove, exposing a fractional amount of skin and fought to note the effect. When he detected nothing more than cool air, he rolled the glove back a bit further. Finally, when an inch of exposed skin encountered no untoward effect, he all but ripped the gas mask from his face as, still retching, he reached into a compartment of his utility belt for one of Alfred's home remedies. He lifted a small cloth bag to his nose and inhaled a mix of mint, ginger, and several other herbs he probably could have identified, had he the luxury of the time to do so. Almost immediately, he felt his stomach begin to settle, though it looked like he was going to have to sit this one out. It was a good thing he'd trained his protégé well. Nightwing was more than holding his own and Daredevil was certainly coping too.

No, Batman thought, as he made his way carefully away from the thick of the battle, it was just as well that he wasn't needed here. He had to take a few more minutes to recover from the effects of the sonic weapon.

A dark-robed opponent moved to block his path, and Batman subdued him almost on reflex. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the one who seemed to be in charge crumple, a nightarang embedded in his shoulder and a quickly rising lump on his head which might have come from an escrima or a billy-club. He smiled. They really didn't need him for this...

Someone leaped on him from behind. As his knees buckled under the unexpected weight, he heard a familiar laugh in his ear and realized that the odds against them had just worsened by a significant margin.

* * *

Daredevil relied on his ears more than most, but what he absolutely hated about sonic weapons was what they did to his equilibrium. Of course balance was an inner ear function and most of what affected his hearing affected that, too. He knew that—at least compared to his normal movements—he had to be lurching and lumbering right now. Probably shouting too; he had to remember that just because he couldn't hear much at the moment didn't mean his companions were in the same boat—though they might well be.

He was fortunate that the new wave of fighters—while more competent than the first group to enter the room—were still no match for him. While his old mentor Stick would have dispatched them faster, Daredevil found that despite his current disadvantage, he could still handle himself well. Particularly with Nightwing assisting; the younger vigilante was clearly used to keeping track of how his teammates were doing in a pitched battle. Daredevil wasn't used to teaming up with other heroes. Being accustomed to working solo meant that, in combat situations, he generally didn't focus overly on anyone who wasn't trying to attack him. In practice, it meant that, while Nightwing was doing a great job of covering him, Daredevil realized that he wasn't doing much to reciprocate. He struggled to shrug off the residual effects from the sonic attack so that he could, at least, pull his own weight better.

As he elbowed one opponent in the solar plexus, he frowned, startled. He hadn't heard anyone else enter, but he caught a whiff of jasmine and sandalwood blended with a trace of vanilla. Incense, not perfume, he judged, as his radar sense registered a lithe form hurtling from above. But if the attacker was ignoring them...

"NIGHTWING!" Now he _meant _to shout. "YOUR LEFT. TEN O'CLOCK! BATMAN'S DOWN!" As he leapt toward the newcomer, he noted that Nightwing was dispatching his remaining adversary with more speed and force than he had been a moment ago, the better to finish with him and help his partner.

* * *

Nightwing had to give credit where credit was due, this guy was good. Oh, not a particularly good fighter—the guy's eyes kept widening involuntarily every time Nightwing blocked or deflected a punch—but quick on his feet, agile, and able to easily dodge strikes which would have connected against Nightwing's run-of-the-mill adversaries. "Who've you trained with?" he grinned. "Iron Master? League of Assassins? The O-Sensei? No, wait. The way you move, he'd be a little before your time unless you started fighting really young."

His opponent snarled and feinted for his eyes. Nightwing didn't fall for it. Instead, he grabbed the other man's wrist, turned, and flipped him neatly over one shoulder. The other man tried to pull Nightwing down with him, but the young vigilante twisted loose and stepped clear of his adversary's leg-sweep.

"_NIGHTWING! YOUR LEFT. TEN O'CLOCK! BATMAN'S DOWN!"_ In the split second that Daredevil's shout distracted him, his current foe regained his feet. Nightwing's smile dropped. He hadn't been playing with the guy, not exactly, but he couldn't afford to waste any more time. Batman needed him _now_. His escrima sticks blurred, appearing to the naked eye like black fans, as they struck out at temple, chest, eye, belly, and leg, before a final blow to the head knocked his opponent out cold. That done, he pivoted in the direction Daredevil had indicated.

For an instant, an expression of dismay flashed across his face. _Lady Shiva?!_ He only hoped that, battered though they were, the three of them could take her.

Lady Shiva laughed, as she drove the side of her hand into Batman's throat. "On the best day of your life, you were barely a match for me," she said. "And this is scarcely that."

Batman staggered back. He struggled to counter, but a kick to the side of his knee brought him down with a groan. In a flash, Shiva was on him, slipping a thin cord over his head and against his throat with one hand, while she pinned one arm back with the other. "Stand down!" she hissed. "I only need one hand to tighten this wire, and I can do it before you can reach me!"

Nightwing froze instantly. His escrima clattered to the ground. Then his blood ran cold. Daredevil hadn't heard her ultimatum. And he was still coming...


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

**Chapter 6**

For an instant, even Lady Shiva seemed to be frozen in disbelief. Then her expression hardened. "Have it your way," she snapped, preparing to tighten the wire.

But that instant was all Batman needed. He thrust back and up with his elbow, ramming it into her pubic bone. The garotte strained against his costume for a moment and a slashed line appeared in the Kevlar. Then, the narrow wire went limp as it was torn from its user's hand and it dropped to the floor. Shiva landed rather more heavily, but despite her obvious pain, she sprang to her feet almost at once.

Daredevil swung his billy-club at her chin and she rolled with the blow, then seized his arm and drew him over her hip.

Nightwing dashed to Batman's side. The Caped Crusader shook his head. "Never mind me," he rasped. "Get Shiva."

Knowing what the sonic weapon had done to Daredevil, Nightwing made sure he was facing his mentor, partly out of concern that Shiva's garotte might have caused some damage, partly so that the older man could read his lips.. "Are you sure you're...?" Nightwing's voice trailed off. Through the cut in the cowl's neck, he could see a sliver of dull metal. There was no blood.

"Gorget collar," Batman snapped. "Gave me some protection. I'm fine. Go!"

The problem was, he didn't look fine, but Nightwing knew better than to argue. He rose to his feet, just in time to see Lady Shiva fly backwards into a lab table. She recovered almost instantly. "You have been taught by the Chaste," she observed. "I am impressed."

Daredevil didn't react to the compliment. Instead, he adjusted his grip on his billy-clubs and advanced steadily.

Shiva surged forward once more, but as she leaped to do battle, she caught a flurry of movement and twisted away from Nightwing's escrima strike. Although she evaded the blow, she left herself too open to Daredevil's strike and sucked in air through her teeth as he smashed one club down hard on her right arm. As her arm lowered, he smashed his second club into her right shoulder.

At the same time, Nightwing drove one escrima stick into her left knee, the other into the ulnar nerve of her left arm. "I was taught that by Batman," he said, the friendliness of his smile belying the steel in his voice.

With a snarl, Shiva flung herself at him, earning a sideways stick to the throat for her trouble.

Daredevil gripped the back of her neck and, as she struggled to free herself, Nightwing extracted a small spray bottle from a compartment in his boot gauntlet. He squirted its contents in her face and she slumped.

Daredevil smiled. "WHAT..." his smile faded. "Sorry. Ear Damage. I'll TRY NOT TO shout. This IS ANNOYing."

Nightwing rested a hand on Daredevil's shoulder. "Batman?" he called. Then he remembered that Batman might not hear him. To his surprise, though, the reply came immediately.

"Nobody's coming," Batman responded, leaving the 'yet' unspoken.

Nightwing nodded. Then, remembering something that Daredevil had explained earlier about his talents, he pulled a small notepad out of one wrist gauntlet compartment and a miniature screwdriver set out of another. Using the smallest Phillips-head screwdriver he had, he set one corner of the tip to the page. It wasn't much of a stylus, but it should still be able to create raised dots, albeit not perfectly round ones. He reminded himself that he'd have to write backwards so that the Braille would be correct on the reverse side. _Can you read this?_ he punched. He noticed that Batman was cuffing Shiva's wrists and ankles and nodded approval. They wouldn't hold her long, but they might hold her long _enough_. He passed the pad and tool to Daredevil.

For a moment after he'd accepted the screwdriver, the Crimson Swashbuckler looked perplexed. Then his fingers brushed the page and he smiled. _Yes. Ink too, if that's easier for you, _he wrote back.

This time, it took Nightwing a bit longer to respond. _Security cameras might spot ink. Braille won't be as easy._

_Smart_, Daredevil admitted.

_Quiet, too. Can you manage? Should we retreat?_

Daredevil sighed. _I hate to. But we're hurting. _

Nightwing nodded. _We haven't worked together long enough to... _he flipped the page... _anticipate each other's moves. That will cost us too._

This time, Daredevil's reply was swift. _Yes_.

Dick looked over his shoulder. Batman was back at the computer. He rose to his feet. "Uh... Batman. Daredevil and I have been—"

"No time for talk," Batman cut him off. "We need to get out of here and we have to assume that as soon as we're gone, Kingpin—or Baron and Baron, if there's a difference—will transfer these files elsewhere and wipe any trace of them from these terminals. Once I download the data, we're leaving. I don't want to hear any arguments."

Nightwing fought the urge to laugh. "You won't. I was expecting to get one from you, though..."

Batman refused to rise to the bait. "Watch Shiva," he grunted. "And the door."

* * *

In the control room, the man in the white suit and ascot glowered. "It would be helpful to know what is going on," he stated.

The technician winced. "They're not exactly mugging for the cameras, sir," he admitted. "When they were talking, we could lip-read. Well, partially, at any rate. But whatever they're doing with a screwdriver? It's obviously some sort of communication, but even inside the room, we'd need a good light source to read it. I'm sorry, sir. We're blind."

The Kingpin sighed. "How... ironic."

"Sorry?"

"Nothing that need concern you, Charles." He shook his head. "I suppose I'd best make my way to their destination to deal with them myself. Notify me, should they go anyplace else."

He rose ponderously to his feet and moved deliberately toward the door, barely registering his underling's acquiescence as he did so.

* * *

Batman rarely swore in Gotham City. Alfred knew how to monitor and, if necessary, interrupt his radio communications, the better to reach him in an emergency. The first time that the elderly butler had heard profanity pass Batman's lips had been the last. It hadn't mattered that the punk he'd been interrogating had been the worst kind of scum. It probably wouldn't have mattered that the punk had sworn first (Batman knew that Alfred hadn't bought the 'He started it!' excuse when Bruce had been six, and he wouldn't buy it now). He'd come home to find the supper dishes in the sink. He still remembered Alfred's scolding.

"I will concede, Master Bruce, that you are indeed too old to have your mouth washed with soap, as would be fitting. However, you shall spend the next fortnight washing the dishes to _my_ satisfaction. And should you not rinse them thoroughly, you may well find yourself ingesting soap, after all."

It would have been laughable, had Alfred not been serious—and had Alfred not used the voice override codes to ensure that the Batmobile would be off-limits to him until the dishes were done. The one saving grace had been that, at the time, Dick had not yet come into his life. He knew his son well enough to know that Dick would never have let him live it down.

However, when time was of the essence and, instead of gaining access to the data he'd hoped, he encountered another security screen, perhaps the cause was sufficient. He'd had every intention of copying the data and removing all traces of his presence in the system. Unfortunately, there wasn't going to be time for that. He pulled out a small toolkit of his own and attacked the computer housing. He'd extract the hard drive and look it over at his leisure later.

It was too dangerous to stay here any longer. He looked around and glowered. There were no windows in the lab, which meant that they would need to find another way out. As soon as the hard drive was safely tucked away inside a belt pouch, he glanced over his shoulder at his companions. "Let's go!" he snapped.

That was when the massive steel door of the lab came smashing down like a tower of building blocks.

* * *

All but forgotten, Lady Shiva smiled. Kingpin's entrance had provided her with just the distraction she needed to get free. Carefully, she slid her manacled wrists down the length of her legs and over her feet. It would have been a good sight easier had her feet not been cuffed as well, but she managed it. From there, it was a simple matter to work a lock-pick out of her jacket lining.

She was only mildly annoyed to discover that the lock on her handcuffs was as stubborn as the enemy who had closed them on her wrists. She enjoyed a challenge.

The only question in her mind was whether to clean up what was left of the three costumed crime-fighters after her employer was through with them, or escape to deal with them another day.

First things first, though, she reminded herself. She worked a second lock-pick loose and made a new attempt at getting her cuffs open.

* * *

The computer file hadn't done him justice. Wilson Fisk was nearly 400 pounds of solid muscle that masqueraded as fat beneath a full-cut white suit and dark green ascot. "Congratulations," he rumbled. "It's rare that I need to involve myself with such petty annoyances," his lip curled in scorn, "as tourists. If the truth must be told, I'm rather surprised you've found the leisure time to visit New York," he sniffed. "Have things settled down in Gotham City? If so, perhaps it is time to consider expanding my operations into that market."

Flanking Batman, Nightwing readied his escrima. Daredevil mirrored him with his billy-clubs. Out the corner of his eye, Nightwing noted that his mentor was still hurting from the previous attacks, but only because he knew what to look for. Batman was an expert at masking pain and fatigue. The grays and blacks of his costume added a certain gravitas to his bearing. The cape helped, too. And when he spoke, his, "You are more than welcome to try," betrayed no hint of weakness.

"Of course," Kingpin added, "my path will be far easier with your elimination. But I will be sporting. I believe that in baseball, it is the visiting team that bats first? You may proceed."

Nightwing tensed. He didn't like this, not one bit. It was his experience that most opponents who were this confident in their victory usually had very good reason for being so. He was more than a little relieved when Batman gave a slight nod, almost a bow, reached into a belt compartment, and came up with another smoke bomb. He passed a breathing mask to Daredevil.

"Another time, perhaps," Batman replied blandly. Then he lobbed the smoke bomb. "Move!" he barked. "Go!"

Nightwing grabbed Daredevil's forearm and gestured toward the doorway, knowing that the other man would be able to navigate through the smoke. For a moment, he thought his new companion would balk, but then he shrugged off the hand and complied. Nightwing's eyes narrowed. Daredevil was going a lot more slowly than he had before. He might be doing it for Nightwing's benefit; if he smelled the chemicals, he could probably guess what Batman had done and know that Nightwing would be following. He might also be more hurt than he was letting on. Nightwing filed his observations away and followed. There were no guards in the hallway when he caught up. He considered for a moment. Then he shouldered his way into one of the other locked rooms and was relieved to spot a large window at the far wall. He wasn't sure whether there was time for any kind of finesse. Instead, he lifted up a desk chair and hurled it through the glass.

Even though he was expecting the alarm, it was still loud enough to startle. "Come on," he urged Daredevil. Then he mentally kicked himself, remembering that Daredevil was still temporarily deaf. Evidently, though, his hand gestures had worked. Daredevil's billy-club line snagged a flagpole across the street. Nightwing aimed his grapnel for the guardrail on the roof of the same building. It was an older one, with excellent handholds and it only took him a few moments to reach the rooftop. Daredevil joined him an instant later.

That was when he realized that Batman wasn't with them. "I'll kill him," he muttered.

"ARE YOU OKAY?"

Nightwing sighed and fished out the note pad again. _I'm fine. You?_

Daredevil shook his head. _Balance shot. Inner ear thing. Had to really focus to make it out. Can't do that all the way home._

Nightwing considered. _We're near my hotel. I can lend you civvies. You okay to get home? Can I drop you off somewhere?_

Unexpectedly, his companion smiled. _You can. First though, can you make a call?_

* * *

Batman was glad that his companions hadn't argued with him, nor checked to make sure he was with them. Fisk needed his full attention and, while Nightwing could probably hold his own in the fight, Murdock was in worse shape. Best to have Dick get him to safety.

"Or maybe," he growled, "now _is_ the time." He charged into the smoke cloud and rammed his elbow where he thought the big man's solar plexus should be. His eyes went wide and he gritted his teeth. It felt like he'd just run the joint into a concrete wall. His opponent grunted but barely even swayed from the impact.

It occurred to Batman that he might have sent away the others too soon.

* * *

Foggy Nelson was just getting ready for bed when the phone rang. He checked the time and fought down his apprehension. In his experience, telephone calls after 11PM seldom brought glad tidings. Since finding out what his best friend and partner did when he wasn't in the office, Foggy had found himself dreading late night phone calls more. He _was_ Matt's emergency contact, after all. With what Matt did, Foggy knew that sooner or later, there _would _be an emergency and he _would_ be contacted.

He looked at the caller ID. 'Private number' told him nothing besides the fact that it wasn't Matt's phone. Steeling himself, he picked up. "Hello?"

"Mr. Nelson?" The voice on the other end sounded cautious but confident. Maybe it wasn't bad news...

"Yes?"

"This is... uh..." In his mind's eye, Foggy envisioned a pained smile. "Um... this is Nightwing. Daredevil said I could call you."

...or maybe it was. "What's happened?" he demanded sharply.

Nightwing sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. He's okay. Mostly."

If that was supposed to reassure him, it was doing a lousy job. "_How_ mostly?"

"We were working together tonight. Someone used sonics. He got an earful."

As Foggy listened, he slowly felt his trepidation begin to drain. From what Nightwing was describing, the situation was more of an annoyance than anything else. "Where can I meet you?" he asked finally.

"Lobby of the Ritz-Carlton Battery Park. I'll be waiting with him."

"Drawing stares from horrified bellhops, I'm sure," Foggy muttered.

He was rewarded by a laugh on the other end. "We'll both be in civvies. Well, in my case... I'll be in disguise, but it'll be a civilian disguise." Nightwing sounded apologetic. "I'm not exactly a celebrity when I'm out of costume; more like... well, 'famous by association'. But you knowing what I really look like risks your finding out about some of those people I'm associated with, and connecting some dots I wish you wouldn't, so... yeah. Disguise."

Kidding around with Matt was one thing. Foggy had never thought that banter would come easily to him with another costumed crime-fighter. But he heard himself groan and reply, "You're one of those people famous for being famous, aren't you? Like Perez Hilton?" and he was rewarded by another laugh.

"Not really," Nightwing replied with amusement lingering in his voice, "though I guess it depends on whether you're asking _me_ or that guy who writes the _Bugle_ editorials."

Foggy replied with a chuckle of his own. "I'll be there in about a half hour."

"We'll be waiting."

* * *

Dick ended the call. _He'll be here in a half hour_, he wrote on the complimentary hotel stationery. He passed the page to Matt. They had tacitly agreed that writing notes to each other was better than risking getting booted from the Ritz because Matt's shouting was disturbing the other guests.

Matt traced the impressions of the pen on the page with his fingertip and nodded, but he was frowning. _Shouldn't Batman be back by now?_

Dick sighed. _Yes. I'm hoping he's just taking a rooftop tour because he __knows__ I'm going to give him hell for this when he gets back and he __hopes__ if he delays his return long enough, I'll be asleep. Hey. Wait. You're his lawyer. Maybe you can yell at him. He might listen to you._

Matt chuckled. _Believe me, I'm planning to. Kingpin would have been hard for the three of us to take down if we were fresh. The shape we were in? I hope Batman's as good as they say. Otherwise..._

_He is_, Dick replied. _That doesn't mean I'm not going to worry until he shows up. As always._ He rolled his eyes, as he added, _How does it go? Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change..._

Matt smiled, but the smile fell away quickly. _I think I'm about to be on the receiving end of some of that hell you mentioned. Foggy worries about me almost as much as you do Batman._ He hesitated before adding, _At least, by the time my hearing comes back, he'll probably have calmed down. Let's head downstairs though. I don't want to keep him waiting._

Dick nodded. Then, because he wasn't sure that Matt registered the motion, he wrote, _Just give me a minute to put in the color contacts and pull on a wig._

He headed for the bathroom to make use of the mirror. He emerged quickly with golden-brown curls and hazel eyes. _All set,_ he wrote, as Matt got up expectantly. He looked at his watch. It had been over an hour since they'd left Baron and Baron. Dick tried to push away his worries. Bruce was fine. He was always fine. Almost always. Usually. The hell with it; when he turned up, Dick was going to _kill_ him...

* * *

_Over an hour earlier..._

Wilson Fisk always felt invigorated after a good fist fight. He tended to avoid them since it was bothersome cleaning bloodstains out of a white linen suit, but he didn't mind an occasional indulgence. He glanced down at the battered figure in black and gray and stooped, reaching for the cowl. He paused, shook his head, and smiled at his folly. Whoever it was under that mask, their face would mean nothing to him. It wasn't as though he knew many people in Gotham on sight. And after the job his fists had done on that face, it was unlikely that he'd recognize it with the cowl off, even if he did know its owner. He looked to Lady Shiva, who had finally managed to work herself free. "I hope you aren't going to be tiresome and fall on your sword over a lost fight," he said.

She sniffed. "Hardly. You didn't seem to need my help, so I didn't interfere. There's no shame in losing to a man of his skills. Though, of course," she added, "there would have been more glory in winning." She bowed.

He returned the bow gravely, turned, and walked over to a wall intercom.

"Charles, I'm afraid I've made quite a mess in the lab. Send a crew in to clean up. I'd appreciate it if they disposed of the trash I've left on the floor, as well." He ended the transmission on his employee's confirmation and headed for the door. When a groan escaped from the prone figure on the ground, Kingpin stopped to deliver a final, savage kick to the man's ribs on his way out.


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

**Chapter 7**

The storekeepers were sliding back the rolling gates that protected their façades after hours when Dick emerged from the hotel. He stopped to check his reflection in one plate-glass window and tucked a stray dark curl back under his wig. He doubted that Matt would be in the office this early, not after last night, but a little optimism didn't hurt. Or itch. Which was more than he could say for this wig. At least the contact lenses were comfortable.

Bruce would have hailed a cab, but one look at the almost unmoving rows of cars along Broad Street convinced him to try the subway.

Just before he descended the stairs into the station, he pulled out his smart phone and made one final attempt. When the call went unanswered, he sighed and reached into his pocket for a subway token.

* * *

"I'm sorry," the receptionist said firmly. "If you'd like to make an appointment, I can put you on Mr. Murdock's calendar for next Tuesday afternoon. But—"

Dick tried not to let his worry overwhelm his self-control. "I keep telling you," he interrupted, "this isn't business-related. Matt's a friend of mine. I don't mind waiting, but I need to see him. It'll only take a few minutes."

"If you'd like to make an appointment..." the receptionist repeated.

The door behind her opened and the receptionist looked over her shoulder. "Oh! Mr. Nelson. I'm so sorry. This gentleman is insisting on seeing Mr. Murdock and—"

Foggy smiled. "I'll handle it from here, Josie." He glanced at Dick.

"Matt's not in, yet," he said quickly. "Had a rough night, but then, I guess you know about that, Mister... Mister... uh...?"

"Chester Honeywell," Dick supplied, straight-faced. "I guess maybe we did get carried away last night. I'm sorry. Maybe I could just leave my contact number with you and he can call me when it's convenient."

Foggy regarded him for a moment. "Up to you," he shrugged. "But Matt did call a few minutes ago to say he'd be here in about an hour. If you'd like, you can wait for him in his office. I can get you a cup of coffee, too. I mean, if you'd like."

Dick smiled and walked past Josie. "Thanks."

Foggy smiled. "Oh, Josie? Just tell Matt that he's got someone waiting. Let him be surprised." He turned to Dick. "Unless you've any objection?"

"None," Dick grinned. "Thanks."

* * *

"Just through here," Foggy directed, holding open a wooden door with a beveled glass pane. Matt's name was stenciled on the pane in gold letters. "Here," he added, as he flicked the light switch. "I'll get you that coffee. You want anything else? I can ask Josie to run down to the bagel place."

Dick shook his head. "Thanks, but I ate already."

"Suit yourself." He left the room and returned a moment later with the coffee. Dick thanked him. When he noticed that Foggy was still standing there, he raised an eyebrow. "Can I give you a hand with anything?"

Foggy shook his head. "Not really. Just wondering about something that's none of my business, is all. And I probably know the answer. The name you just gave Josie and me... that's not the one that would come up if anyone ran your prints, right?"

"Believe it or not," Dick grinned, took a sip of coffee, and then winced when he scalded his tongue, "it would. That doesn't make it real, though. It's something that was set up a long time ago for my protection. Anyone who tries to run my prints, retina scans, or any other biometric data will get pointed to Chester Honeywell. Because, like I told you last night, knowing my real name makes it too easy for folks to guess the real names of some of my associates." He shrugged. "And I don't mind talking, so long as you accept that there are some questions I'm not going to answer."

Foggy hesitated. "So... what's Batman like?"

Before Dick could reply, both men heard footsteps, accompanied by a faint tapping sound. Foggy nodded and got up, as Matt walked into the office. He held his cane in one hand and his briefcase in the other. A paper shopping bag with handles dangled from the arm with the briefcase.

"Matt!" Foggy strode toward him. "You remember Chester Honeywell from yesterday!"

Matt winced. "Not so loud," he muttered. "The good news is my hearing is back. The bad news is that my ability to filter isn't. At least, not fully." He flashed a pained smile. "I'm finding it harder to screen out the sounds I don't have to pay attention to."

His smile became more genuine as he nodded to Dick. "Thanks for coming by, Chester," he said, setting his briefcase down on the desk and sliding the bag into his hand. "I wasn't expecting you this early, but I did bring in the clothes you lent me, just in case you did." He held the bag out to Dick. "Thanks again." His smile froze on his lips and then disappeared entirely. "What's wrong?"

Dick sighed.

"I can leave," Foggy said quickly.

"No, it's okay." He shook his head. "Batman never came back last night and he never checked in."

Matt's jaw clenched. "All right. Give me half an hour."

"You sure you're up for it?" Dick asked, concerned.

"I can manage." He turned to Foggy. "You'll—"

"—Reschedule your appointments," Foggy finished. "Again."

He turned to Dick. "Nice seeing you."

"Likewise."

* * *

He hurt everywhere and lying flat on a hard floor didn't help. The air smelled musty and he was breathing in dust. Batman let out a groan, which rapidly became a cough, and struggled to sit up. A wave of dizziness hit him and he slumped back down. It wasn't just dizziness, he realized. He was moving. It was too dark to see, but from the hum of the engine, he realized that he was probably in the back of a truck. He reached out his hands and encountered something solid on each side of him. On closer examination, he appeared to be lying between two rows of cardboard boxes, stacked high and then fastened in place. It was some kind of delivery truck or moving van.

His hands flew to his waist. He still had his belt, at least. A moment later, he gave a mental howl of frustration. He had the belt... but someone had gone through its compartments and removed most of his equipment. He had his grapnel, his first aid kit, several ration bars, and a canteen. Nothing that could actually get him out of here, though. He tried his comm-link and was rewarded with crackling static. He checked his glove and boot compartments. They'd left him his antivenins, his spare grappling lines, and the water purification tablets, but confiscated the C4 and acetylene torch. No signal flares, either. For the first time, he felt apprehension. Not to mention confusion. The simplest way to make his life difficult would have been to remove the belt, boots and gloves. Once that was done, whoever did so could have gone through his gadgets at their leisure. Yes, he took security precautions against that eventuality, but out of necessity, they could be easily overridden—if someone knew how. Otherwise, he'd run afoul of his own systems every time he needed to reach for a batarang. So... what could motivate a person to make off with his equipment, but leave him the receptacles?

Batman sighed. It didn't look like he was going to get any answers until his captors brought him to wherever they were taking him. And considering that he was still hurting from his battle with the Kingpin, the wisest move was to rest, give his body as much time to recover as he could, and wait for the right moment.

It was maybe a half hour later when the van finally stopped. Batman lay still, waiting for his captors to open the back door, pretending to still be too injured to resist. Wherever he was, it stank of rust and refuse. He heard the cab door open and then slam shut. Another vehicle drove up; probably a car. Voices. Laughter. A car door opened and closed a moment later. Then the other vehicle drove away.

Silence.

Batman waited in the darkness, but he heard no more cars or voices or footsteps. It occurred to him that whoever had locked him in here had no intention of letting him out. He nodded slowly. It made sense. Kill him and leave his body in the van, and there would be a murder investigation. Leave him in the van without his belt and they would also know that foul play was involved. But if they left him here, in a loaded van, with _some_ of his equipment—nothing that could get him out of his current predicament, but enough stuff so that a cursory examination by a CSI team would arouse few untoward suspicions—the logical conclusion would be that he had slipped into the van to investigate and been inadvertently locked inside, and hadn't had the means to extricate himself. For all intents and purposes, it would look as though he'd gone through much of his equipment during the course of his patrol. There might be a cursory investigation, but—particularly if Murdock was right about Kingpin having influence with the NYPD—his death would likely be deemed accidental.

He'd been left here to starve.

...If the smell didn't kill him first.

* * *

"So, that's the situation," Dick said. "Bruce isn't answering his comm-link and I'm not picking up a distress signal, which could mean a bunch of things."

"I know," Oracle returned. "He's somewhere shielded; he's out of range; he's being jammed; the suit's power source is running low; he's asleep; he's under surveillance..."

_He's dead_. Neither one voiced that last one. Neither one wanted to consider it. But neither one could help wondering.

"Just..." Dick caught himself. "Never mind. I _know_ you'll call me as soon as you hear anything."

"Yeah," Oracle said wearily. "And I know you'll do the same for me. I'm worried too."

"He's probably fine."

"Yeah."

He closed the comm-link channel and turned to Matt. "I guess you don't need me to tell you how that went," he said.

Matt shook his head. "Even if I couldn't hear her half of the conversation clearly, I did hear yours." He took a breath. "Is there any way we can get back to the R&amp;D lab? Batman's probably long gone, but there might be some clues left behind."

"I know," Dick said, nodding. "I don't really like the idea of going back in broad daylight, but after the last couple of days, what with Bruce getting caught on camera, you two duking it out that night, and what happened _last_ night, there's no way we'll be able to sneak in undetected if we go back after hours."

"Agreed."

"On the other hand," Dick smiled, "we won't need particularly _good_ disguises to explain our presence in a restricted area, will we?"

Matt's face slowly sprouted a smile of its own.

* * *

"Hey!" an angry voice demanded. "What are you doing in this wing?"

The red-haired man turned around quickly, a stricken look on his face. "I was trying to find the men's room," he replied nervously. "I got directions at the reception desk, but I guess I must have heard them wrong."

The security guard took in the dark glasses and cane and relaxed. "Looks like you took a couple of wrong turns," he nodded. "Here. I'll take you. Um..." He bent his arm awkwardly. "You want to take my elbow?"

Dick smiled. "Thanks." As he allowed the guard to escort him, his smile grew wider, as he felt the cell phone in his pocket vibrate. He raised his free hand to his forehead, taking care not to disturb the wig. His little distraction was giving Daredevil the opportunity he needed to slip back into the lab.

* * *

As they'd expected, the R&amp;D lab was unoccupied. Daredevil had to take Nightwing's word for it that the room had sustained sufficient damage that it would be hard to explain to the regular employees; it wasn't like his radar sense gave him enough detail to judge for himself. Oracle had confirmed as much earlier, though; a memo had gone out to all staff to advise that 'due to an emergency situation,' they were being temporarily relocated to another site. She'd passed that information on to them both, together with the new code for the security pinpad. Matt shook his head as he keyed it in. He was wondering how they'd managed to get the door fixed so quickly after Kingpin had smashed it down last night.

On entering the lab, Matt's radar sense noted that the long tables were bare. Clearly, the computer terminals had been moved overnight, most likely to wherever the temporary site was located. That didn't concern him. He closed the door carefully behind him. Then he fished out his smart phone and sent a quick text to Dick to let him know that he was inside, all the while thinking a quick 'thank you' to the creators of the Brailletouch app. He bent down to the ground, trusting his nose, and the sensitive pads of his fingers, to point him in the right direction.

Wayne perspired a bit more heavily in his Bat-suit than in his business suit. It wasn't a huge difference and it might have come down to the breathability of the materials involved, but it did make it easier for Matt to get a bead on him. He scowled. Had _every_ ninja that had attacked them last night been in this part of the lab? He couldn't tell which of the lingering scents in the room belonged to the people they'd fought with and which to whoever had taken Batman.

He caught something then. Motor oil, damp cement, car exhaust... someone had walked up here from the underground parking garage. He warned himself not to get too excited. It could have been whoever had moved the computers. It could have been one of the ninjas. But...

He exited the lab and found that he could still follow the scent down the hallway. It was easier, here. Clearly, few people had passed through this area today. At least, not in this direction; he suspected that there was probably another bank of elevators behind him. He texted Dick to meet him in the parking garage.

As he got into the elevator, he fought the urge to scratch his head. His wig—Dick's wig—itched. It was a necessary precaution, though. Fisk knew what he looked like—with or without his glasses. He couldn't risk being recognized on the security screens, not when he had no hope of staying out of their range. With any luck, Dick's current disguise would throw them off.

* * *

"Looks like it was a false alarm," the guard spoke into his walkie-talkie. "Just some blind guy taking a wrong turn. Everything's secure."

"Roger that," his supervisor acknowledged. "Carry on."

All at once, a new voice burst into the conversation. "A blind man? Red hair? Sunglasses? Using a cane rather than a guide dog?"

The guard blinked, startled. "Um... yeah. Who are you?"

"That is not your concern. Where is the man now?"

The guard hesitated. "It's fine, Paul," his supervisor broke in, confirming. "Just answer the question."

"The men's room in Sector 7G," Paul replied after another moment's hesitation. "Should I—?"

The new voice was back in the conversation. "Do nothing further. I'll take the appropriate measures. Thank you for your vigilance." The minimal background static lessened further.

"Sir?"

"He's gone now," his supervisor responded, sounding relieved.

"Vinnie? Who was that?"

There was a brief pause. Then Vinnie lowered his voice a fraction. "We don't say his name..."

* * *

After the security guard escorted him to the men's room, Dick stayed inside for a reasonable amount of time. He was only mildly surprised to find four hulking men in loose-fitting business suits waiting for him outside. "Mr. Murdock?" one of them asked in a low tone. Each man pulled out a gun and trained it on him.

Dick grinned and took off his—Matt's—glasses. That action had just told him everything he needed to know. "Sorry," he said lightly, "wrong vigilante."

He was willing to bet that either the cameras in this area were turned off, or he was in a blind zone. Otherwise these guys wouldn't be brandishing their weapons in the hallway of an office building. He pulled his escrima sticks out of his inside jacket pocket and assumed a fighting stance.

"I was getting a little concerned," Matt remarked, when Dick finally joined him in the garage.

"Nah," Dick replied. "I think Fisk realized I was so worried about Batman I skipped my morning workout. He sent a few goons to help me make up for it. Oh." He handed Matt back his cane. "Here's your spare."

Matt accepted the collapsible cane with a smile. "I guess I should have shown you how to separate the billy-clubs," he said. "Might've saved you a couple of seconds."

"Don't worry about it." His voice took on a more serious tone. "What've you got?"

"I'm not sure," Matt replied, "but I think someone brought him down here." He explained briefly about the smells he'd picked up in the lab.

Dick bent down quickly and slid his hands over the floor, ignoring the layer of gray dust. "If anyone comes," he said, "I lost a contact lens."

"What are you looking for?"

"I'm not sure," Dick admitted, but if he could, he'd have left... something." He made a face, as he gingerly dipped his fingers into the pool of motor oil. An instant later, he stifled a cry of pain.

"You okay?" Matt asked.

Strangely, Dick's tone was markedly lighter. "Better than." He held up a palm-sized batarang between his thumb and index finger, tilting it so Matt's radar could get a good sense of its shape. "Bruce was definitely down here."

"Unfortunately," Matt sighed, "I can't follow a vehicle that left here hours ago."

"You can't," Dick said. "But I bet I know someone who can..."

* * *

"The cameras were disabled for about an hour last night, not long after you guys left the premises," Oracle said cheerfully, "but they made one mistake. That spot where you found the batarang? There was a van parked there before the cameras went down and it was gone after they went back online."

Dick turned to Matt. "Are you picking that up?"

Matt nodded. They were back in the hotel room and Dick was on the telephone. In the relative silence, he had no problem hearing both ends of the conversation.

"Have you got anything on the license?" Dick asked.

The electronic voice on the other end let out a very human sigh. "The van was under a tarp, so I don't know how accurate this is."

The frown on Matt's face yielded to puzzlement. "How could she get anything?" he asked.

Dick put his finger to his lips. "Understood," he said. "What do you have?"

"Well, it occurred to me that, if the van was there that long, it might be in a leased spot. So, I hacked into the garage's files and it turns out that spot has been leased to Icthys Imports. They generally deal with spices..."

"Probably one of Fisk's companies," Matt murmured.

"Hang on, Oracle," Dick said.

He turned to Matt. "You could be on to something," he said, nodding. "The surname 'Fisk' is an old form of the word 'fish'. I think it's German, maybe Old English or Old Norse. 'Fish' in Greek is 'icthys'."

He took his hand off of the receiver's mouthpiece. "Sorry, about that. Okay. Daredevil suspects Icthys is one of Fisk's companies. Can you confirm?"

"I already have." Oracle paused for a beat. "Guy's almost as sneaky as we are; I had to follow the trail through about a dozen shell companies to confirm it, but yes. Confirmed. I've got something even better, though," Oracle added triumphantly. "See, the garage keeps track of the license numbers, so..."

Dick smiled. "Lay it on me." He jotted down the number that she gave him. "Thanks. Of course," he sobered, "New York's pretty big. It's still going to be tough to track down a specific van. And that's if it's even still in the city."

"But not," Oracle said, "if it's got an RFID transponder for the EZ-Pass toll road system."

Matt let out a low whistle. "She is _good_," he said.

Dick laughed. "I think your fan club just gained a new member. Okay. Where's our van now?"

"Took the Ridgefield Park exit off the New Jersey Turnpike. I'm trying to link up with local surveillance cameras and satellite feeds, but the searches are still running." She sighed. "Should I go ahead and mail out the decal and decoder ring, or did I just lose that new fan?"

Matt grinned, even as he shook his head. "I'm still in," he said. "Right now, we know not to tear Manhattan apart. Ask her how big Ridgefield Park is."

Dick relayed the question. A moment later, he replied, "A bit less than two square miles, with a population of just under thirteen thousand."

"Manhattan's 23 square miles and a population of more than 1.6 _million_. I don't even want to think about the other boroughs. I'd much rather search two square miles than twenty-three."

"Agreed." Dick relayed Matt's reply and got off the phone shortly thereafter. "She'll call us when she has something," he said. "Meanwhile? It looks like we're going to New Jersey."

* * *

Batman carefully ran his fingers over the interior of the van, probing for some sort of weakness. He'd almost gotten used to the smell by now. He told himself that if he could pick up odors from outside, it meant that he was in no danger of suffocation. Cold comfort.

"Oracle," he rasped into his comm-link. "Oracle, do you read?"

Static.

"Nightwing. Can you hear me?"

Static.

Kingpin had done a number on him earlier. He suspected he'd cracked at least one rib. And the headache and dizziness practically screamed concussion. In the darkness, he shook his head slowly. He was cut off from communicating with his team. He had nothing on his person that seemed able to get him out of the van. The food and water they'd left him with seemed like a sadistic joke. The ration bars could sustain him for a week. The water, on the other hand, wouldn't last more than a day or so.

A man could live without food for considerably longer than he could without water.

Batman punched the wall in frustration. There had to be a way out of this, he knew. There had to be. But damned if he could find it.


	9. Chapter 8

Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

**Chapter 8**

Batman grunted as he loaded another carton onto the hand-truck he'd found in the van. If he survived this, Leslie was going to kill him, while, at the same time, lecturing him on the idiocy of doing heavy lifting with a cracked rib—and Alfred was going to help her.

_One more carton_, he told himself. _One more and he could rest._ He imagined he could feel the injured rib slicing into him like a white-hot knife. _Stop whining_, he ordered himself. _You've worked through worse pain. Just get those boxes secured._ Using the line from his grappling hook, he tied the stack down to the hand-truck. Then, groaning a bit from the fire that streaked across his chest, he tilted the hand-truck and wheeled it toward the back wall of the van.

_So far, so good_, he thought. Now came the hard part. He gripped the handles of the hand-truck tightly and charged toward the doors at the far end. He couldn't keep from crying out as his injured body protested. The hand-truck rammed into the doors with a heavy thud. They shuddered slightly, but didn't give.

Batman eyed the opposite wall once more. It looked farther away now than it had previously. He steeled himself and tilted the hand-truck back once more, preparing his makeshift battering ram for another run.

* * *

"I wish we had the Batmobile," Nightwing admitted, as they turned onto Harlem River Drive in a rented BMW. "One day, Bruce will give me the new access code."

Daredevil leaned forward the distance that his seatbelt permitted. "The new one? So you had a code at one time?"

Nightwing kept his eyes on the road and wondered whether, if his face was as warm as it felt to him, Daredevil could feel the heat radiating off of it. "For all of three months," he admitted. "Then we had some stupid argument, I don't even remember what about. Probably me feeling that Bruce was still treating me like I was nine when I was sixteen; that was pretty much par for the course, back then. We each said a bunch of things we probably wouldn't have said if we weren't both in lousy moods to begin with. I finally told Bruce I was going to take a drive to cool off."

Daredevil groaned theatrically. "Please, tell me you didn't…"

"Afraid so. At least, I was smart enough to get into costume first." He sighed. "Bruce was so relieved when I made it back in one piece that he demonstrated his caring by ripping me a new one. And changing the code. Last year, I asked him if he could finally tell me what it was, just in case of emergency. He just gave me this look and asked me if I thought it was _wise_, after what happened last time." He shook his head. "I figured that blowing up at him would only hurt my case, so I backed down. But, hey," he added lightly. "Maybe after this, he'll finally see how it might be a good idea after all."

"You're optimistic," Daredevil smiled.

"Always."

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Then Daredevil chuckled. "Sorry," he apologized. "I'm just trying to imagine you—or well, anyone—arguing with Batman, never mind joyriding in his car."

"Yeah, well," Nightwing mumbled, "I've been fighting bad guys since I was nine. Getting into shouting matches with someone who I could be reasonably sure wasn't going to kill me was kind of a relief." He paused. "Okay, not really. Familiarity breeds contempt? Or, at least, a greater tolerance for glares and growls?"

"That works," Daredevil grinned. His face turned pensive. "I don't think my dad and I ever got into any shouting matches. Not that we always saw eye-to-eye, mind you, but I wasn't big on direct confrontation back then." He lifted his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. "One major point of contention was fighting: he was a prizefighter, but he made it clear that he expected me to use my brain, not my fists. Not even when other kids made my life hell because I wouldn't stand up for myself."

"Hard," Nightwing whistled. "I mean, I put up with a lot of getting roughed up because I… well, let's just say that by the time Bruce let me wear the suit, I had better moves than your average fourth-grader. Or college varsity wrestler, for that matter. Being Robin from the time I was nine and a circus aerialist for a few years before that, you understand."

"Yeah, I hear that." Daredevil was nodding. "Parkouring to the office would probably save me a bit of time on the morning rush, but it's…" he laced his fingers together behind his head and flexed them, "nnnnnnot the _best _way to maintain a secret identity." Nightwing laughed. Daredevil smiled for a moment.

"About my dad," he continued, sobering, "to be fair, I never told him how bad I got it from the other kids. He was under the impression that it was just name-calling and he'd remind me about 'sticks and stones'. Maybe if he'd known that it was more than that, he would have accepted my defending myself. I don't know. He didn't want me taking any steps down a path that would lead to my entering a boxing ring. Heck, he barely let me take time off from studying to play with the other kids." He sighed. "Which, of course, set me apart from them, which led to my getting targeted by the local bullies. Anyway, like I said, I never told Dad about it. There was enough to worry about on other fronts; I didn't need to dump anything else on him. So, I endured. And when I couldn't take it anymore, I'd sneak off to the gym when it was late and nobody else was there, and I'd square off against the heavy bag. It started off as a way to vent my frustrations with… everything."

He shook his head. "Again, my dad wasn't an educated man. We weren't at all well-off. There were some times when we were a month or more behind on the rent and living off of ramen noodles and ketchup sandwiches, but he always tried to do right for me. He'd talk about how he never got past high school and it was too late for him, but I was going to study and make something of myself. When I lost my eyesight, he didn't let me sit around feeling sorry for myself. He pushed me just as hard as he ever had, if not harder."

Daredevil exhaled noisily. "And, well, I knew he wanted me to keep hitting the books and I didn't want to tell him that, as good a student as I was, I couldn't just spend all my waking hours studying. I didn't want an argument. And thinking back, I probably did have some buried resentment toward him for pushing me so hard, even if, at the same time, I knew it was for my own good."

"Sounds familiar," Dick interjected.

Matt smiled. "Yeah, I guess it does. So… you could say that I just went along with what he wanted me to do, but then, I also went ahead and did what I thought I needed to without telling him."

Nightwing kept his eyes on the road. "To be honest, I'm not sure which one of us came up with the better dysfunctional coping mechanism."

"Neither am I." Daredevil was silent for a few minutes more. "What was it like?" he asked finally. "Driving the Batmobile?"

Nightwing laughed. "Absolutely incredible."

* * *

The first barrage had come without warning, a series of heavy impacts shaking the roof and walls of the van, the noise jarring his ears and the vibrations rattling his bones. If someone was trying to force their way inside—or, perhaps, crush the vehicle—it wasn't working.

After what felt like an eternity, the pounding stopped and Batman allowed himself a sigh of relief. It was short-lived, for the noise resumed almost immediately. Again, there was a short respite before the pounding continued. Finally, quiet reigned once more and he went back to his inspection of the premises, feeling hot perspiration under his cowl. He hoped that there were no security cameras in the van monitoring his situation. It was doubtful, given that the only source of light came from a few cracks where the metal panels that made up his prison were imperfectly aligned. Ramming the hand-truck into the doors was hot, tiring, and painful work. After the sixth run, he slumped to the ground and, convinced of the unlikelihood that he was currently under observation, pushed back his cowl to wipe the sweat from his brow. He debated taking a swig from the canteen, but decided against it. He wasn't very thirsty yet, just hot and sweaty. He forced himself to overlook the fact that increased sweat meant faster dehydration. He had a finite amount of water with him and no means of procuring more.

Unless…

Groaning, he hauled himself up off the floor and made his way to the sealed cartons. It was a slim chance at best, but perhaps there was something useful here. He ripped the top off and shook his head. Olive oil. If the rest of the crates contained the same, he was locked in with a small fortune in extra virgin olive oil. He knew that he should open the other boxes to check and he would. Soon. Right now, he needed to… to…

Batman smiled then. Actually, a crate of olive oil might be just the thing he needed.

* * *

"Well," Nightwing said dubiously, as they drove past a white wooden sign which read, 'Welcome to the Village of Ridgefield Park, New Jersey', "this is it. Probably a good thing we're in a rental car. I get the distinct impression the folks here don't see many Batmobiles cruising down Main Street."

"Could you crack open the window?" Daredevil queried. "I might be able to pick up a scent, now that we're driving a bit slower."

"Just a little," Nightwing replied. "The windows are tinted; I don't really want anyone seeing inside."

"Yeah, tomorrow's _Bugle_ headline would probably read something like, 'Nightwing and Daredevil boost BMW. Spider-Man's involvement suspected'," Daredevil muttered. When Dick laughed, he added, "I only _wish_ I was kidding. And since you've already got a reputation for joy-riding…"

Dick rolled the window on the passenger side down a crack. "Happy?"

Daredevil pinched his nose shut. "Not really. I think there's a landfill around here."

"I don't smell anything," Nightwing replied, sealing the window once more.

"Enhanced senses can be a double-edged sword at times," Daredevil admitted. "This is one of those times."

Dick sighed. "You're going to hate me in a minute. You know that, right?"

"You're driving there."

"I'm not sure how much of our surroundings you're picking up, but this is a small place. Very suburban, very quiet. I'm guessing that it would be hard to slip much by the neighbors. Not impossible," he added, "but since we can't very well conduct a house-to-house search, I'm thinking," he keyed a request into the onboard GPS system, "that the landfill might be a good place to start looking. Especially since," he smiled, "you told us earlier that Kingpin knows your identity. Does he know about your abilities?"

Matt frowned. "You know, I'm not positive. There are a few people who I've let in on the secret, or who figured it out on their own. They almost always start off assuming that I'm faking my blindness for cover." He smiled thinly.

"Hey. I know a guy who somehow manages to hide behind horn-rimmed glasses and a blue double-breasted suit in civilian life, with almost nobody the wiser," Dick retorted.

Matt's smile widened. "Duly noted. As I was saying, Fisk might know the whole truth, or he might think I'm faking it. It's not like I've ever sat down with him to discuss it."

"Ah. Because _if_ Kingpin does know about your enhanced senses, and he knows that you can track someone by scent, it seems to me that holing up in a landfill might be a pretty good way to throw you off the trail."

Daredevil sighed. "You're making a compelling case."

"You're going to be okay?"

He sighed again. "Yeah. It'll take me a few minutes to get used to the smell, but it's not like Manhattan's a bed of roses either." He shook his head. "I guess you'd better crack that window open again."

* * *

Batman shook the bottle of olive oil he was holding, to assure himself that it was now empty. In the darkness, it was hard to tell if he'd managed to coat enough of the floor. The ventilation holes in the flooring were also a bit of a concern; the hand-truck wasn't going to travel as smoothly. It also wouldn't move as fast as he'd prefer; the metal was skid resistant.

Another barrage had hit the van while he'd been working. It hadn't done more than startle him, but he doubted it meant anything good.

He sighed. It would have to do. He went for another pass at the doors, trusting himself to remember where the oil coating started and release the hand-truck before he stepped—and slipped in it. The hand-truck careened forward, hitting the doors with greater force than it had previously.

The doors shifted fractionally forward and a crack of light appeared before him. A slight gust of air wafted in.

Batman stifled a groan. This was going to take a bit longer.

* * *

By the time that Nightwing found a place to park the BMW, the stench of the landfill was getting to him, too. He opened the door, got out and bent down to fumble with one of the compartments ringing the top of his left boot. "I think I might need to switch my nose plugs from my boots to my gauntlets," he admitted. "Need a pair?"

Daredevil's face was pale and he looked ill as he opened the passenger door and swung his legs out, but he shook his head. "Hold on to them, but I think I can manage. If I can just focus past the worst of it, I might be able to home in on a smell we can actually use. Or…"

Dick waited a moment for Matt to continue. Instead, the man in scarlet doubled over, heaving.

"Daredevil!"

Matt waved him off. "I'll be okay in a minute," he said. To Dick's surprise, he was smiling. "Do you hear that?"

Dick frowned in concentration. All he could hear were… "Sea gulls?" he asked dubiously.

"No." He emerged from the BMW and leaned heavily against the car for a moment, resting his head on the roof. When he straightened, Dick was standing next to him. "I think I've got it under control for now," he said. "I just heard a crashing sound from over there," he gestured vaguely to their left. "And now… tires on metal flooring…"

"You mean a car?" Nightwing asked.

Daredevil frowned. "No. I'm not hearing a motor and we're talking much smaller wheels. Like a cart, or maybe a hand-truck. This way." Matt strode purposefully in the direction he'd pointed out.

Dick followed on Matt's heels. A moment later, he was brought up short when a billy-club barred his path. "You don't want to step in that," Matt cautioned. Dick looked down, made a face, and nodded agreement. "In case you were wondering," Daredevil said, as they started off again, "this is why I prefer not to use nose plugs if I can help it." Before Dick could respond, he continued, "I just heard another bang. Come on."

* * *

Any other man would have passed out by now, whether from the exertion, the injuries, or the heat—which continued to climb as the day went on. Batman unscrewed the cap of his canteen and tried to restrict himself to one swallow. He ended up taking four. This wouldn't do. The water had to last him—at least, until he was out of here—and he was no closer to that than he had been an hour ago—if it had been an hour. He hadn't checked the heads-up display in his cowl when he'd started. And, while he could generally gauge the passage of time with reasonable accuracy, the way his head was pounding, it was too hard to focus.

He resealed his canteen and hauled himself up for another go with the hand-truck. It seemed heavier this time, harder to push across the skid-resistant floor. With an angry snarl, he thrust it before him, forcing himself to run the distance.

And then, his boot came down in the oil slick and his feet flew out from under him. He slammed into the floor landing heavily on his back and barely managing to tuck his chin down in time to protect his head from further injury. The hand-truck crashed into the doors, rebounded to within inches of his supine body, and then rolled away to bump less forcefully into the doors, rebound once more, slide again into the doors with a gentle tap, and stop.

Batman struggled to rise and managed to almost sit up before he slumped back to the floor. Drowsiness was setting in. Maybe conserving his strength wasn't such a terrible idea.

* * *

"The banging's stopped," Daredevil said. "I haven't heard it in about ten minutes."

"What about a heartbeat?"

Daredevil shook his head. "We might be too far away for that, still. Also… I couldn't help noticing when we fought that Batman knows ninjitsu."

"Among other martial arts," Nightwing nodded. "So?"

"Did he learn more from them than how to fight?" Matt asked. "Stick—my old sensei—taught me a bunch of other techniques that had nothing to do with combat. Not overtly, anyway. Stuff like acupressure, meditative healing… and slowing down your autonomic responses to conserve energy—or oxygen. If he has those same skills, it would make it harder for me to get a bead on him."

"Yep," Dick admitted. "He picked up a lot in the Far East. He's taught me a bit, too, though not everything. I've never tried tracking him by his heartbeat, but he's been known to fool my infra-red goggles before." He sighed. "So…"

"So, from here on in, I need you to see for both of us. I know we're heading in the right direction. We haven't veered off-course. But unless I hear—or smell—something else, odds are you'll spot whatever it was I was homing in on before I do." He grinned. "Lay on, MacDuff."

Dick smiled back.

For the next quarter hour, they picked their way past mounds of refuse of all descriptions and a few things they neither could nor wished to describe. "I've never realized how many people out there don't separate their trash," Dick muttered.

"Unfortunately," Daredevil replied, "I have. The dumpsters in Manhattan are every bit as bad, if not worse. Just on a smaller scale." He frowned. "Wait."

"You hear something?"

Daredevil nodded. "Faint. A grunt… coming from," he pointed to his right, "there. Not too far away, now."

Five minutes later, Nightwing let out a whoop. "I see the truck!" he exclaimed. "This way!"

* * *

Slowly, painfully, Batman picked himself up off the floor. In the dim light, he could make out the contours of the hand-truck. That wasn't the problem. The problem was getting it out of the oil without taking another fall.

He considered his options. Then, with a scowl, he unfastened his cape and spread it out on the floor before him. He took a cautious step forward, testing the ground before taking another.

"_Holy Walter Raleigh, Batman!"_ a voice barely into puberty exclaimed in his mind. Despite himself, his lips twitched. The first time Robin had begun a sentence with the word 'Holy,' he'd been ten, and the word that had followed it very nearly hadn't been 'fuzz'. If the whole truth needed to be told, Batman had been thinking along the lines of the stronger phrase himself—which had probably led him to glower a bit more forcefully at his young protégé. The look on his face must have been exaggerated enough to seem comical, because for the next few years, Dick had been merciless with the sheer volume of items and historical figures to which he had ascribed sanctity. Batman had tolerated it stoically. It had still been better than the puns.

His fingers had just curled about the handles of the hand-truck, when he realized that he was still hearing Dick's voice—though it was quite a bit deeper than it had been in his memory. And it seemed to be coming from just outside the van.

"Batman? Are you in there?"

He opened his mouth to respond and was seized by a coughing fit. He slammed the hand-truck into the doors. "Here!" he rasped.

"Hang on!" Dick called. "Ma—Daredevil, help me get this junk out of the way."

In the darkness, Batman heard footsteps crunching on aluminum cans and the dull bang of heavier metals striking into each other.

"It'll just be another few minutes," Dick advised. "At least it's not like that cave-in in the Gotham catacombs, when we were worried that shifting the debris would bring more stuff down on our heads. This just looks like someone parked the van someplace relatively level and then when the next load of trash came, it got piled up around it."

"It might be worthwhile to see if Fisk has any connections with the sanitation department in these parts," Daredevil mused. "It would explain why, out of all the possible dump sites in this landfill, so much has been deposited right where this van is parked. A few more truckloads and there's a good chance it would've been buried before anyone thought to look for it."

Then, a bit louder, he added, "I think the doors are clear now—or they will be, as soon as we can get that chain off."

Batman heard the smile in his son's voice, as well as note of grim determination, when Nightwing said, "Leave that to me."

* * *

The padlocked chain that held the van doors shut yielded to the third lock pick that Dick tried. When he pulled the doors open, a heavily-laden hand truck rolled toward him. He stepped out of the way and it tumbled to the ground.

"Watch your step," Batman said hoarsely. "The floor's coated with oil."

"Great," Dick muttered. "Kingpin?"

Batman coughed and took a long draught from his canteen. "Not exactly," he said. With a groan, he struggled to rise. Something of his injuries must have been apparent to Dick, for the younger man nearly lunged toward him.

"Stay where you are," Nightwing ordered. "I'm coming in. Daredevil, get on his other side."

"I'm fine."

"Batman," Daredevil said apologetically, "You're not fine. You've got a broken rib and a hairline crack on your left collarbone. I can hear the edges of the fractures grinding together. Your breathing is labored and frankly? You sound like hell. Now we're going to get you out there. Then Nightwing's going back to where we parked the car. And then we're driving to a clinic I know where people like you and me can get medical treatment without having to answer a bunch of nosy questions."

"Wow," Dick breathed, as Matt climbed into the van. "I can see why they call you the Man without Fear."

Matt laughed. He had a feeling that the furious expression he was currently imagining on Bruce's face was only a pale shadow of reality.

"I suppose," Batman gritted through clenched teeth, "you're going to presume to lecture me about facing Fisk alone now." The two men were leaning against the side of the van. Bruce could see Nightwing's black-and-blue uniform, a small speck on the horizon, as the younger man headed off to get the car.

Daredevil shook his head. "That would leave me wide open for a retort involving pots and kettles," he admitted, "and when I did it, I ended up in worse shape than you are now, _and_ I'd fought him before _and_ I totally ignored everything I'd learned about his combat prowess on those earlier occasions. How are you doing?" he asked. "I wasn't exaggerating about your injuries."

"I know," Batman admitted.

"You said that Fisk went through your utility belt," Daredevil said slowly. "I'm guessing that means he got the data you extracted in the R&amp;D lab."

Batman was silent for a moment. "No," he said with a smile in his voice. "He didn't."

Radar sense meant that Daredevil didn't need to turn his head to see the other man fumbling with his cape. "Damned collarbone," Batman grunted, as he ran his fingers along the edge of the garment. A moment later, he heaved a sigh that was equal parts pain and satisfaction, as he pressed a small object into Daredevil's hand.

"I knew that if I were captured, the belt would be the first thing they'd search," he said. "Fortunately, I have other options. Don't get too excited," he cautioned. "We still don't know what's on the drive."

"No," Daredevil nodded agreement, "but I refuse to believe that we all risked our lives last night to steal Fisk's embarrassing baby pictures. If we did, and if Dick wants to post them online, be advised that I'm not going to try talking him out of it."

Batman let out a long breath. "Noted."

* * *

"Sir?"

Wilson Fisk regarded his underling with an expressionless face and waited.

"We believe we know what Batman downloaded."

As Fisk listened, a muscle in his jaw twitched. "And you did not find the drive when you searched him?" he demanded.

"No, sir."

Fisk frowned. He closed his eyes and pondered the situation. For a moment, he regretted that he'd put out the order to various municipal sanitation departments in Bergen County regarding the specific location where they were to unload their refuse. It was only going to make the task that much harder now. "Send a team," he said finally. "By now, he should be feeling the effects of heat and dehydration. I doubt he'll be in a position to resist, but ensure that our people are carrying both tasers and tranquilizer guns, just in case. Assuming that he is alive, the team is to persuade him to divulge the whereabouts of the drive. If he has already succumbed to his condition, dispose of him."

"Um… sir?" The flunky tugged at his shirt collar nervously.

"Well?"

"I know something of the Batman," the man said. "At least, I've heard…" Something in Fisk's expression made him swallow hard. "Mr. Fisk, from what I know… it's possible that he might have escaped."

Fisk was silent for another moment. "Unlikely," he judged. "But if he has, send the word out. I know how I injured him. He'll need medical care. Have our people scout out every clinic, hospital, and private practice. I want the drive found and I want the man neutralized." He leaned forward, his eyes boring into those of his underling's with grim intensity. "…By any means necessary."


	10. Chapter 9

Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

**Chapter 9**

The woman in the white nurse's uniform fastened the last bandage with a sigh. "Is there any point in telling you that you need a couple of weeks' rest before you try anything strenuous, or would I be better served going outside and talking to the brick walls?" she demanded.

Batman glowered. The nurse walked around to his other side and hooked up a smaller IV bag next to the one already on the pole. "I had the Punisher in here last week," she remarked. "He was almost as pleasant a conversationalist as you are. Thank you for considering the other patients and not swearing." She shook her head. "In all seriousness, your body needs time to heal. Until it does, you can't afford to take any more of the kind of damage I've just worked on. I'll… give you enough painkillers to last you a few days. They'll mask the seriousness of your injuries; they won't heal them any faster." When all she got from her patient was a noncommittal grunt, she sighed. "Stay here until the IV bags deplete; it'll be another couple of hours. I'll be back to remove the tubing when it's time." She met his angry glare with a level gaze. "I trust you know better than to rip it out yourself?"

What was it about medical staff that made them immune to the same scowls that gave hardened killers chills? Damned if he knew. Batman lay back on the cot with a grudging 'yes'. The nurse smiled.

After she'd left the room, Batman's gaze panned from Nightwing to Daredevil. "Not. One. Word," he growled.

* * *

"I see," Wilson Fisk replied. He ended the call. Then he punched a new number into his telephone.

"Spread the word," he ordered when the party on the other end picked up. "If Batman, Nightwing, or Daredevil are spotted anywhere in New York, I want to know the location. If they are on the move, I want the heading. If the observer is able to follow them, so much the better."

The delivery truck doors had been forced open from the outside, meaning that Batman had had help. Fisk frowned. He was positive that the truck hadn't been followed the night before, which made him wonder how anyone had located it. Although it didn't really matter, it would be useful information to have in order to prevent the same thing from happening again at some point in the future.

He sighed. Maybe he shouldn't have been so concerned that Batman's death appear accidental. A Teflon-coated bullet to the head would have resolved the matter quite handily. It would have been simple to get rid of the murder weapon. Among other businesses, he owned a scrap-metal processing plant—one which possessed the necessary equipment to convert a firearm into tiny pieces of steel in almost no time at all. It could do the same to a person, and Kingpin had considered making use of it for Batman's disposal. Ultimately, he'd decided that it was safest not to have the death occur on the premises of one of his holdings. He could have weathered the investigation, but he didn't need the added attention. And Daredevil—ever a thorn in his side—would have dug in all the more sharply.

So. Caution had won out, and now the Batman—and the data that he had stolen from Baron and Baron's R&amp;D lab—had gone missing. A temporary inconvenience, to be sure, but one that Fisk wanted resolved as quickly as possible.

He forced himself to put the matter out of his mind for the time being and drew his attention to the files his secretary had readied for him in preparation for an afternoon business meeting.

* * *

"As long as I'm here," Matt said, as soon as he and Dick had helped Bruce inside the hotel suite and Dick ensured that the door was fully closed behind them, "I think we need to take some time to go over your case."

Bruce rested one hand on the back of a chair as he stopped, his posture tense. "I can't imagine you've had much opportunity to come up with anything new during the last day or so," he remarked.

"You'd be surprised how many brilliant ideas come to me just when I'm trying to fall asleep," Matt replied, not sounding in the least offended. "Look, once you get to the point where you can meditate past your pain, I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that you'll be blowing off any further business meetings until the Kingpin situation is resolved."

"Once it's resolved," Bruce snapped, "the legal matter might also be settled."

"I'm not disputing that," Matt said easily. "But if it isn't, then I'll be running around playing catch-up and far more likely to overlook something in my haste to come up with a defense strategy ahead of the court appointment. And frankly, Mr. Wayne, with the amount you're paying out in legal fees, I'm not comfortable doing any less than my best for you. Right now, we've both got some free time. Let's take advantage."

Bruce regarded Matt stonily for a moment. "I'm going into my bedroom to lie down," he said. "If you want to make use of the desk in there, you'll probably find it a bit quieter. Especially since Dick's probably going to want to watch TV in the main area."

"Hey, _Worlds Away_ is on Netflix. If I can really get an uninterrupted 90 minutes to watch it…"

Matt frowned. "I don't think I'm familiar with that one."

"Cirque du Soleil," Bruce clarified. "Their films are primarily acrobatic ballets; music and movement with little to no dialogue."

"Ah," Matt nodded. "Not really the kind of thing I could follow, then, unless I was watching it live." He smiled apologetically. "My radar sense isn't much good at detecting movement on a screen."

"I'm hoping to get some stunt ideas," Dick said. "That and every so often, I see someone I used to know in the cast." When Matt showed his interest, the younger man added, "My parents and I were aerialists. We toured with Haley's circus during the regular season, but when we went down to Florida in the wintertime, we stayed in a trailer park with a lot of other circus people and I got friendly with some of the other kids in my line of work. Every so often, I spot one of their names in the credits."

"Ever wish you were one of them?"

Dick considered. "Sometimes, I guess. I mean, I'm not jealous or anything. I think I'm using my skills for something a lot more meaningful as Nightwing. And then I watch a movie like this and, for a little while, I think about the way it used to be: just dancing in the air, almost a hundred feet up, feeling like you're flying and not having to calculate the best place to land if you're going to disarm six armed thugs in five seconds flat." He shrugged. "Then I pick up a distress call over police band and I go suit up and take a running leap off a skyscraper."

Matt grinned. "We're taking an aerial tour of Manhattan before you leave town." Through the open bedroom door, both men heard a throat clear impatiently. "Meanwhile…" he added.

"Yeah," Dick said. "I'll leave you to it. Let me know if the set's too loud."

"Will do," Matt replied. Then he headed into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.

* * *

The movie was nearly over when the bedroom door opened again and Dick heard footsteps—a lighter tread than Bruce's—approach.

"Okay," Matt said. "He's out. Um… asleep."

Dick looked up at that. "Tell me you didn't just spend an hour and a half in there making sure he'd stay put."

Matt sat down in an armchair next to the sofa where Dick was situated. "No, I really did want to review his case." He leaned back, laced his fingers together, and stretched his arms over his head with a slight gasp. "Besides, the Night Nurse knew what she was doing."

"Clarify?"

Matt's lips twitched and a faint smile came and went on his face. "Going to her for help has one major advantage and one major disadvantage. The advantage: she knows the kind of stuff we do and the kind of people who would come after us if they knew we were… um… indisposed. We can count on her discretion."

"And the disadvantage?"

Matt sighed. "She knows just how stubborn we can be and how likely we are to develop selective hearing when it comes to expert medical advice. I'm speculating here, but I'd hazard a guess that when she hooked up that IV drip, it served two purposes: the obvious one—he _was_ dehydrated and whatever else she gave him probably did kick in faster than had he taken it orally; and the sneaky one."

"Sneaky?"

Matt nodded. "From personal experience? When you're on an adrenaline high, you can do a lot of stuff you not only shouldn't be doing, but shouldn't be physically _capable_ of doing. Just in case he had any adrenaline left in him after spending hours in that van, plus the drive back to Manhattan, that time he spent on the cot with the IV probably got rid of it."

"Oh, sheesh." Dick shook his head. "Well… here's hoping she doesn't compare techniques with the doctor we go to back in Gotham. I don't think Batman would appreciate anyone giving her any ideas!"

* * *

"Hey," Dick said some time later, "how much longer can you stick around?"

Matt shrugged. "Bruce zoned out in the middle of our discussion earlier. There are a few things I want to run past him before I proceed any further in planning my arguments, so I'm waiting until he wakes up. And yes, he's still in the other room. Snoring."

"You're sure?" Dick asked with a smile in his voice. "Knowing Bruce, I wouldn't put it past him to have recorded himself sleeping, just so he could play it on a loop and sneak out the window."

"If you actually believed that, you would have gotten up to check on him," Matt returned. "But if it makes you feel better, I'm picking up his heartbeat too."

Dick got up and walked to the window. "I've been debating something," he said. "That hard drive Bruce got; I know he'd like to decrypt it here on his own. And part of me is telling me I should respect that, or at least, wait until he's up to suggest an alternative."

"But…"

Dick smiled. "But Titans Tower is about forty minutes away if I take the rooftops to the docks and grab a T-Barge. From there, I can ask Cyborg to take a gander. He interfaces with computers, so it shouldn't be a problem. If, for some reason, he can't help, the Tower also has a JLA transporter. I can borrow it to get back to Gotham and deliver the drive to Oracle." He walked back toward the sofa. "Cyborg is usually faster, but Oracle's been briefed on what's going on. She'll be able to zero in on the most important stuff and possibly connect it with the other research she's been doing on Fisk and Baron and Baron."

"And you want me here to… what? Cover for you?" Matt gave him a pained smile. "I'm not sure that's my place."

"No," Dick sighed. "I wouldn't ask that. I just don't feel right about leaving Bruce alone without telling him where I'm heading. Plus, you were there when the Night Nurse went over those symptoms to look out for. If there's a real medical emergency, I want to know someone's here who can—and will—dial 911." He sighed again. "I have a feeling that if Batman had been bitten by a blue-ringed octopus, he'd be more concerned about his identity being compromised than about the effects of tetrodotoxin on his respiratory system. I'm not even kidding!" he exclaimed when Matt snickered. Then, more seriously, "You can stay?"

Matt nodded. "I was hoping to patrol a bit later. Fisk has a few people I can usually persuade to talk to me. But that wouldn't be until later this evening."

"Yeah, I should be back before it starts to get dark," Dick said, nodding. He grinned. "I guess they teach you all about being persuasive in law school."

"Well," Matt admitted, "I did study rhetoric, but the people I'm planning to speak with tend to respond better to the techniques I picked up at Fogwell's Gym in the 'Kitchen. Um… Hell's Kitchen."

Dick smiled. "I know."

* * *

Nightwing waited until he was on the roof of the hotel before he changed into costume. He was halfway to the docks when he suspected that his movements were being tracked. He wasn't positive, but it seemed like every time he glanced down to get his bearings, he could see someone looking up and speaking into a cell phone.

He frowned. Maybe Bruce's usual paranoia was rubbing off on him, but just to be on the safe side, he resolved to leave the Tower via transporter—and in civvies. If he materialized in Central Park and took the subway back to the hotel, nobody would be the wiser.

Cyborg examined the hard drive with an annoyed expression on the half of his face that could convey emotion. "I can see why Batman took the whole thing," he said sourly. "It's got one of the highest levels of encryption I've encountered to date. We're talking S.H.I.E.L.D-style precautions. Where'd he pick it up?"

"Um… Wall Street investment and brokerage firm."

Cyborg snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Which may or may not be connected with organized crime. Does the name Wilson Fisk mean anything to you?"

The other man drew in his breath. "Not someone whose bad side you'd want to be on."

"Too late."

"I figured. Be careful, Dick. He may not have powers, but treat him the way you would Luthor and don't underestimate the guy." His expression lightened. "Should be easy for you to keep in mind; they kind of look alike. Or would if Luthor put on a few pounds or Fisk lost some."

"Judging by the way things went down the other night," Dick replied, "that's not fat; it's muscle. Couple of punches from him and you might wonder if Lex's green armor might pack less of a wallop."

"You have to be kidding me."

"Well," Dick hedged, "semi-kidding. Either way, you'll want to know if anyone got the license of the truck that hit you. So, how long do you think it'll be before you crack it, Vic?"

"Any reason you aren't involving Oracle?"

Dick shrugged. "I'd have to leave New York to bring her the drive. You're here."

"So you don't mind if I discuss this with her? It'll go a bit faster and she probably knows what you're looking for."

"No, that's fine. I'll give her a heads-up that you'll be calling," Dick smiled.

Vic smiled back. "Check back with me tonight when you get in from patrol—you _are_ patrolling tonight, right?"

"Probably."

"If you aren't, then check back with me when you wake up tomorrow. If I haven't cracked it, I'll have a better idea of how much longer I'll need."

"Will do."

On his way back to the Ritz, he called Matt's cell phone. "About that aerial tour you were suggesting? How does tonight sound?"

* * *

"You haven't said anything," Dick prompted. Bruce was sitting up in bed, his expression stony, while Dick and Matt lounged on opposite sides of the doorway.

"Would it make a difference?"

Both younger men appeared to consider the question. "Not really," Matt admitted. "Though truthfully, I don't need backup to shake down a few lowlifes; if you don't want to be alone—"

"—Yeah," Dick cut in. "I don't mind keeping you company."

Bruce glared at both of them. "I do _not_ need a sitter!" he snapped.

"Good," Matt nodded. "It's settled then." He turned his head toward Dick. "Top of the Chrysler building at eight?"

"Suits me fine."

Dick waited until Matt left before he went into his own bedroom and pulled a small plastic case out of his desk drawer. He brought it back into Bruce's room. "This isn't approval," he said softly. "This is me realizing that if you're planning on doing your own reconnaissance, even though we both know it's a lousy idea with your injuries," he dropped the case onto the bed, "you'll probably have a better chance of limping back here if you restock your utility belt. I grabbed a few things at the Tower."

Bruce sank back against the pillow. "You and Daredevil know this city better than I do," he admitted grudgingly. "I'll stay in and await your report. Your _full_ report," he added with a stern expression that was betrayed by the faintest hint of humor in his eyes.

Surprise flashed on Dick's face for a moment. Then it disappeared, replaced by a broad smile. "Yes, _sir_!" he said, snapping off a salute.

Bruce sighed. "Was that really necessary?"

Dick shook his head, still smiling. "I'll let you rest, then."

He was almost out of the room when Bruce called after him, "Dick? Thanks."

* * *

"Um…" Nightwing hesitated as he read the small sign in the bar window. "Do you come here often?"

Daredevil paused. "I suppose so. It's one of the better watering holes when you're looking to meet up with a certain crowd, why?"

"Do things usually get out of hand when you pop in?"

"Define 'out of hand'."

Nightwing fought to keep the laughter out of his voice. "There's a sign in the window that reads, and I quote: No Masks; No Costumes; No Nun-chaks; Violators will be barred."

Daredevil sighed. "I keep telling Josie they're billy-clubs," he said.

"She put up that sign just for you?"

"I guess it's kind of flattering," Daredevil admitted. "Or I guess I'd find it flattering if I could read it." He tilted his head quizzically. "Would you be more comfortable waiting outside?" he asked with phony solicitousness.

Nightwing laughed. "How many laws are we planning to break in there?"

"Are you just counting individual laws or each violation as a separate instance? Because if it's the latter, it really depends on how many people choose to get involved."

"Yeah, it'd be a little hypocritical to rack up the assault and battery charges but shy away from violating a house policy that might even be termed discriminatory. In fact," he let out a low whistle, "I'm almost sure that sign violates our constitutional rights or something."

Daredevil coughed. "Costumed heroes aren't protected under any anti-discrimination legislation in this country that I'm aware of. Sorry."

"You're sorry?" Nightwing echoed. "You mean, you're just going to let an unfair policy stand uncontested? Sheesh. If my best friend, Arsenal, were here, he'd be inside already staging a sit-in."

Daredevil tried not to laugh. He nearly succeeded. "Well," he said straight-faced, "as committed as I am to upholding the law, I suppose that the circumstances _might_ warrant some form of unlawful protest."

"Darn straight!"

"You know something?" Matt grinned. "You're right. We _shouldn't_ take this lying down."

"Nope!"

"We have every right to go in there!"

"Uh-huh."

"Besides," Daredevil added, "It's not as though I actually saw the sign myself. Or as though I'd let it stop me…"

* * *

The barkeep's expression hardened when the two vigilantes walked in. "Didn't you guys see the sign?" she demanded.

"Yes," Nightwing replied, "and you'll be hearing from my lawyer."

Before the middle-aged blonde woman could respond, Daredevil held up a placating hand. "We're just looking for information, Josie," he said.

Neither the barkeep's voice nor her expression softened so much as an iota. "I don't want any trouble here," she growled.

Daredevil shook his head sadly. "That's really up to your clientele, isn't it? If someone tells me what I need to know peacefully, we'll be gone in a minute—Nightwing! Dodge left!" As the words left his mouth, he flung himself to the right, as Nightwing reacted automatically to the order. The wooden truncheon whistled as it swung downward through the empty space where the two men had been standing. Off-balance, their would-be attacker staggered, made an effort to right himself, overbalanced, and reeled backwards, stumbling into another patron. The beefy man surged up with an angry bellow and banged his empty beer stein on the table. The glass broke and he lunged for the first man with the jagged remains. In less than three seconds, the room became a free-for-all.

Nightwing looked at Josie. "Would you consider that a nun-chak, too?" he asked innocently, gesturing toward the truncheon that the other patron still clenched in his fist. Before she could answer, he'd unholstered his escrima. "Because, if so… I guess you'd have to lump these in with it."

Josie exhaled loudly. "I _just_ had the front window replaced," she pleaded. "I can't afford to keep doing it."

"Understood," Nightwing nodded. "In that case…" He flipped on top of the bar, pulled out his grappling line, and waited. When he saw a chair go flying toward the window, he cast the line, hooked the chair, and whipped it back, looping the cord around four brawlers and clipping a fifth with the chair in passing. He leaped lightly down from his perch to secure the other end of the line to the low railing that separated the bar area from the dining room and tied it off. Then he returned to his original position, readying a new line.

Daredevil seemed to be zeroing in on specific targets, while ignoring others. Nightwing figured that his crimson companion probably had a list of 'usual subjects' to round up. And since Daredevil apparently was managing just fine on the interrogation score—and was easily handling the few brave souls who were attempting to sneak up on him, Nightwing opted to keep watching the window and make sure that none of the brawlers got trampled or otherwise seriously hurt.

Josie observed silently, wincing when the odd patron flew into a wall or took a harder-than-average blow. When ten minutes passed and the window remained intact, she turned to the fryer.

Less than five minutes later, the only patrons left in the place were the fifteen or so whom Nightwing had managed to corral, three other men groaning on the floor, and the thug that Daredevil was currently interrogating. The others had fled, leaving behind some broken crockery, several smashed chairs, a two-top table cracked neatly in half… and an untouched plate glass window.

Nightwing jumped off the bar and started walking toward Daredevil. He stopped when he heard the clatter of plates and glasses on polished wood. He looked over his shoulder to see two glasses of water and a sampler plate of appetizers—wings, mozzarella sticks, jalapeno poppers, and chicken fingers—on the bar.

"Don't think I'm making a habit of this," she snapped. "But this is the first time in months that you costumed creeps have come in here and I haven't had to call the glass guy after you left."

Daredevil approached, disbelief etched on his face. "Don't tell me you're getting soft, Josie," he exclaimed.

"Only when you bring in quality eye candy," she shot back, giving Nightwing an appraising smile. "Now eat up and get out before you scare off any new business."

* * *

Daredevil passed Nightwing a disposable napkin as they walked out of Josie's. "You've got blue cheese sauce on your chin," he said.

"I'm not going to ask how you know that," Nightwing replied as he accepted the napkin and they turned down an alley.

"Radar sense shows a slight change in the shape of your jaw's contour, sense of smell picks up a concentration of the sauce and, while that glob is moving pretty slowly, it _is_ moving enough for me to pick up the slide. If I had to guess, I'd say that you probably react to a few thousand sensory cues every day yourself without thinking about what you're doing." Daredevil shrugged. "For the most part, I don't think about how I notice what I notice unless someone asks me about it."

"I'm not making you self-conscious about it or anything, am I?" Nightwing asked, suddenly serious. "I mean, if I'm being annoying, you can tell me."

Daredevil shook his head. "I don't mind. And," he sighed and smiled sheepishly, "it's possible that I was showing off. A little." He reached up to catch hold of a fire escape landing and swung up into a handstand. Nightwing followed. "There aren't a lot of people who know that Daredevil is blind," he went on, as they continued their ascent to the roof of the low-rise. "When they find out, there's usually a period of time where it's almost like they…" He hesitated for a moment, weighing his words as he pulled out one billy-club and hit a stud at its base to release a length of cable. Taking hold of it, he spun the club over his head, extending the line further. "It's like they forget everything they saw me do before they realized I couldn't see."

The billy club soared over the alley to loop around the metal chimney of the building on the other side. A moment later, something whistled past him and he heard a dull clang as Nightwing's metal grappling hook snagged the roof railing of the same building. The two vigilantes swung over and calmly retracted their lines. "Maybe I was trying to pre-empt that just now."

"Maybe I can kind of relate," Nightwing replied after mulling over what his companion had said. "I mean, it's not exactly the same thing, but you know that I'm one of the few Titans without any kind of superpower. There've been times when I've been the only one. It doesn't happen all that often, but every now and then, someone on the team—usually someone new—gets… um… over-protective. It _has_ happened, though." He sighed. "It's never fun when it does."

Matt nodded. "I can see how it wouldn't be."

"You find anything out in Josie's?"

"Yeah. No word on the contents of that drive, but Kingpin already knows that Batman's free and he's got the underworld looking for him. Chances are there's a car down below that's going to start tailing us as soon as we get moving, figuring we'll lead it to him."

Nightwing grinned. "And just yesterday, I was lamenting about how long it had been since I took anyone on a wild goose chase across Manhattan. And now, I'm about to do it twice in one day—I forgot to mention someone tried shadowing me on my way to the docks earlier." He frowned. "I know time of day doesn't matter much to you, but for me, the city looks pretty different after dark. Have there been any changes to the skyline in the last couple of years you want to mention?"

"A few," Daredevil said lightly. "I'll point them out as we go."

When the two vigilantes swung across the street and headed south, they pretended that they didn't notice the Honda compact that pulled away from the curb and joined the slow-moving traffic.

* * *

The streets were a bit different, as were the faces of the local lowlifes, but the crimes were the same—as were the thugs' reactions to vigilante interference. There was always someone who tried pulling a gun, a couple who resorted to blades, chains, or fists, one or two who tried to hide in the shadows… and a whole lot who broke and ran.

"Let 'em go," Daredevil advised, when a gang of adolescents high-tailed it down an alley, almost before their cans of spray paint hit the pavement.

Nightwing studied the wall critically. "I know you can't tell," he said thoughtfully, "but at least one of them has some real talent."

"Thanks for the tip," Daredevil replied. "I know a few people who might be able to reach out to them, maybe get them on a better path. I've heard about some companies hiring graffiti artists to create murals and such."

"Yeah. WE's done it before in Gotham. I can mention it to Bruce; if we are opening a branch of the company here, it might be a good PR move." He stifled a yawn.

Daredevil smiled. "I guess we can call it a night. Come on; we'll swing by my office and I'll return your favor from the other night. I keep some extra suits around in case I don't have time to go home after a late patrol."

"And then just take the subway back to the hotel with our tail none the wiser," Nightwing nodded. "Worked earlier, too."

Daredevil frowned. "Are you positive about that?" he asked. "Could you have been shadowed then?"

"No." Briefly, he explained about the transporter. "…So, unless we're dealing with people who can monitor that kind of activity, _and_ were in Central Park when I showed up in civvies, _and_ know what I look like in civvies… just, no."

"Okay," Daredevil said, smiling again. "Just checking."

* * *

The sky was starting to get lighter when they slipped in through the window of Nelson and Murdock. Dick changed quickly into the suit that Matt had handed him. It was a near-perfect fit and—much as he avoided suits and ties whenever possible—he had to admit that this one wasn't half-bad.

"Mind if I use your phone?" he asked after he'd changed.

"Afraid Bruce is worried?"

Dick shook his head. Then he worried that Matt might not have seen it. "No, if I were to call him at this hour, _that_ would worry him. I want to give Cyborg a call," he explained as he picked up the phone. "See if he's got anything off of that drive, yet."

"Ah."

His former teammate picked up on the first ring. "Hello?"

"It's me." Dick said quickly. "Find anything?"

Cyborg took a deep breath. "You could say that. I think you should plan on paying us another visit later today. Bring Batman with you; he's going to want to hear this too…"


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Wilson Fisk leaned back in his padded leather executive chair, closed his eyes, and steepled his fingers in thought. While Nightwing and Daredevil had made their presence felt in the city last night, Batman had been nowhere. Either Batman was far better at avoiding detection than both his young protégé _and_ Daredevil, or he still hadn't recovered from his injuries.

He opened his eyes once more and looked at the underling standing nervously before him. "You checked with every hospital and clinic?" he asked softly.

The man nodded. "There were some people treated who fit the description; eighteen of them across Manhattan, to be precise. But they all appear to be locals. We're checking the addresses and verifying the insurance data now; we've had to wait for the business day to start for the latter. It does not appear, however, that the Batman received treatment at any known facility."

Fisk considered. "Expand the search to the other boroughs." A new thought occurred to him. "Also, contact our people in Bergen County. Have them check hospitals, clinics, and private practices." He smiled slowly. "Depending on the severity of his injuries, the Batman may have sought medical treatment closer to where we left him."

The man nodded again. "I'll arrange it," he said. "Is there anything else?"

Fisk shook his head. "If your people do find him, they are to report it but take no further action. I'll have a team standing by to be dispatched to his location. That will be all."

Dismissed, the underling dipped his head once, respectfully, before hurrying out to relay the new orders.

* * *

"Yeah," Dick said, talking into the phone. "We're going in for noon. In civvies. Bats don't like daylight and going out in costume _would_ be a bit like asking for a fight. Which Bruce can probably handle, but why risk it?" he added quickly, as his mentor stepped into the room.

Bruce glowered and muttered something about not sharing every detail with outsiders. Dick laughed, covered the mouthpiece with his hand and turned to Bruce. "He heard that."

"He was intended to," Bruce shot back.

"He says to remind you that he's a human lie detector."

Bruce's eyebrows shot up. "He can_not _hear my heartbeat over the phone."

"He says that he doubts you would have referred to him as an outsider if you thought he could overhear. Do I burst his bubble and tell him that, no, you really _can_ be that unfriendly?"

"Is he coming with us?" Bruce demanded, changing the subject abruptly.

Dick listened for a moment. "No, he's due in court in an hour. But I'll fill him in later."

"I'll fill you in later," he added into the mouthpiece. "Well, yes, but I still thought it would be polite to tell you directly. Yeah. Yeah, good luck yourself." He hung up.

"You're sure you're okay moving around?" he asked Bruce.

Bruce held up a hand, as though to ward off any further inquiries. "I'm fine," he snapped. "Check the menu and let me know what you want from room service. I'll order breakfast."

* * *

"Well," Cyborg said slowly, "it's bigger than we thought. Oracle and I spent a couple of hours last night exploring different leads, trying to untangle this whole thing and, as near as we can figure, there are four possibilities. One: Baron and Baron isn't just handling Kingpin's dirty money; they're handling H.I.V.E.'s, too. I mean, they _are _handling H.I.V.E.'s—that bit isn't speculation—we found the electronic records trail. Two: Kingpin is in bed with H.I.V.E. and funneling their resources into his enterprises."

"Legitimate or criminal?" Bruce asked.

Cyborg shrugged. "Considering that he seems to have the two locked in a symbiotic relationship, I'd have to go with both. That's Fisk's genius, spinning it all together so perfectly that it's hard to see where one ends and the other starts. And his legitimate businesses are so integral to the city's economy that… Forgive me, Bruce, but if Wayne Enterprises went bankrupt tomorrow, it would turn Gotham into an economic sinkhole. If you topple Fisk, you're looking at something similar here in New York. There are plenty of honest, hardworking people who would lose their financial stability in an instant if Fisk's holdings went under."

Bruce nodded slowly. "Daredevil told me as much, the other day. You mentioned four possibilities?"

"That's right. I gave you the first two already: Baron and Baron could knowingly be engaging in money laundering for several clients, with Fisk being just one of them and H.I.V.E., another or, Fisk and H.I.V.E. are working together as partners. However, it's also possible that one of them is using the other. It needs more study, but it's possible that if we were to corner Fisk, he'd be able to come out on top by convincing a court that he's an innocent dupe and had no idea that he was working with H.I.V.E, or vice versa." He let out a long breath. "Patrons, partners, or patsies… We're still not sure which."

"Let us know if you find out," Dick said with a smile. "Anything else?"

"Maybe," Cyborg replied. "Oracle turned up a roster of some of H.I.V.E's key personnel. It would be nice if she'd turned up enough proof to get them locked away, but we can't have everything. Anyway, you might want to touch base with Daredevil on this. Some time ago, he tangled with a ring of computer hackers calling themselves System Crash. One of their members, a woman named Infomorph, was recently released from prison. She now appears to be working for H.I.V.E."

"Interesting," Bruce said. "How relevant is it, though?"

"Three days ago, 'round about one o'clock, it looks as though she used that computer you took apart," Cyborg said. "And it appears that she temporarily connected it to the corporate intranet and sent a file to another terminal in an unused office in a restricted area of Baron and Baron." He frowned. "At least, I think she did. We don't have a visual on the hacker, but I cross-checked the methodology against that of other known hackers in the FBI and Interpol databases and the probability that it's Infomorph's work is greater than ninety-six percent. No other hacker on record even comes close to that likelihood." He paused for a moment. When neither Bruce nor Dick commented, he continued. "As for the restricted location to which she sent the file… The IP of the receiving terminal shows it as assigned to an office in their Private Banking sector. Of course, there's always a possibility that the machine was removed to a different office, but were that the case, there'd almost have to be some sort of trail. Neither Oracle nor I could find a work order or trouble ticket to authorize such a transfer."

"You're saying," Bruce said slowly, "that Infomorph was transferring data to an accomplice. Do you know what she was sending?"

Cyborg nodded grimly. "She was transmitting data on Fisk's financial holdings."

"To who?" Dick demanded.

"Still working on it."

"Thanks," Bruce said. "That's helpful. You'll keep us informed of any further developments?"

"Naturally."

Bruce didn't return Cyborg's smile. "We'll see ourselves out, then."

* * *

"Well," Dick said, as they made their way to the dock, where the T-Barges were moored, "that was enlightening."

"Very," Bruce nodded. "Three days ago, when I was collared by Baron and Baron building security and accused of corporate espionage, it was shortly before half-past one."

Dick let out a low whistle.

* * *

Matt was cross-examining a witness when he heard his phone vibrating from across the room. He did his best to ignore it, even though the sound of the plastic repeatedly knocking against the wood bothered him more than Foggy drumming his fingertips on the same table.

He kept the phone out of his pocket when in court; he'd learned from past experience that feeling it pulsate against his hip while he was in the middle of an argument was a good way to rattle his concentration. Hearing it clatter from across the room was an annoyance, but a manageable one. He took stock of the situation. There had already been two continuances granted in this case, the judge wasn't in the best of moods, and they'd only just reconvened after lunch. Asking for a recess at this juncture would be ill-advised.

With a mental sigh, Matt kept focused on the witness and hoped that whoever it was who was calling could wait for a bit.

* * *

The instant that court adjourned, Matt checked his messages and mumbled something to Foggy about catching him later.

"Matt, we have to discuss tomorrow's strategy!" Foggy muttered under his breath, knowing that his partner could hear him perfectly, even though he was halfway down the hall.

"Later!"

Foggy groaned as Matt strode briskly out of the courthouse and the heavy door shut behind him. "You know darned well I'm going to start tackling this without you," he grumbled as he walked down the marble hallway, "in case you find yourself hanging by your thumbs in some villain's lair somewhere and I have to handle the defense by myself tomorrow. Except you won't. You're just going to breeze into the office around midnight, acting surprised I'm still there waiting for you. Only I won't have been waiting. I'll have been working on the case since… oh, about an hour from now, and when you finally show up, I'll be just about finished. And I won't even be able to yell at you, because you'll be coming from swinging a family of six to safety from out of a burning building… or saving some tourists who blundered into the middle of a gang war… or, or… I don't know, something else that'll make me feel like a first-class heel for being furious with you." He let out a long sigh. "Darn you, Matt. Just get back in one piece."

* * *

"Infomorph," Matt said slowly. "That's one name I haven't heard in a very long time."

Bruce made an irritated noise. "That's hardly relevant," he snapped. "What can you tell us about her?"

Matt frowned for a moment, thinking. "She's… difficult to pin down," he said finally. "Sometimes she exists in two dimensions; sometimes, three. Which, as you might imagine, wreaks hell on my radar sense. She's a shapeshifter," he clarified, "able to assume the form and physical attributes of other beings, and often their skills and knowledge. If she isn't a computer hacker herself, she can mimic someone who is."

"If?" Dick asked. "You mean, you aren't sure?"

"Given her power-set," Matt admitted, "it's hard to know how much of her talent she comes by honestly and how much she's picked up via impersonation. Although if it's the latter, those skills fade as soon as she changes back to herself. She used to be part of an outfit called—"

"—System Crash," Bruce completed. "We know that much."

If Matt was annoyed, he didn't let it show. "Good. Their idea was to create chaos by manipulating the information available on the internet."

Dick coughed. "Wikipedia _is_ pretty easy to edit. I've heard tell that some teachers do it all the time, right before their students' reports are due."

"You'd be more on-point if you were talking about doctoring reputable news sites, medical pages, search engines…" Matt shrugged. "Heck, all they'd need to do is mess up Google Maps and they could sit back and watch road rage take over.

Dick sobered instantly. "I hear you. Okay. What about the rest of System Crash? Do we need to worry about them?"

"I don't believe so," Matt said slowly. "Bitmap's natural form was liquid; he needed a containment suit to maintain cohesion. When we tangled, the suit ruptured and he fell into Upper New York Bay. We think he… uh… blended with the waters. He's never been heard from again."

"It wouldn't be the first time that reports of a death were proved to be exaggerations," Bruce pointed out, "but go on. What about the others?"

"Kilobyte and Technostrike were aboard System Crash's airship, when it crashed in the Bay. Also presumed dead. That was the second Kilobyte. The first one is definitely dead—chose suicide over capture. Steel Collar," Matt shook his head. "That one's a tragedy. I truly believe that with the right help, he could have turned his life around. Everyone makes choices and he made a lot of bad ones, but I wouldn't class him as a villain, so much as a desperate man backed into a corner. Unfortunately, we'll never know if I was right; he also committed suicide." He shook his head again. "That one hurt." He was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed. "The only other member of the team was Wirehead. He was sentenced to twenty years and he's serving it on Ryker's. Or, at least, he should be. You might want to have your Oracle confirm it; I wasn't his lawyer, so it's going to take me a little longer to find out the information on my own."

Bruce nodded. "So that's it, then? Seven members; two confirmed dead, three presumed dead, one in custody, and one at large?"

"Yes."

"All right. I'll call Oracle. Meanwhile… See whether the two of you can come up with any ideas on how to flush Infomorph into the open or, barring that, prove that _I_ wasn't involved with her act of corporate espionage. We know she had a contact. Now, we need to find out who."

* * *

Back in their hotel room Dick turned to face Bruce. "I didn't want to say anything in front of Matt," he said softly, "but you do know what it could mean, if Infomorph was impersonating you the other day."

Bruce nodded. "She may have picked up my… talents. Temporarily."

"What about knowledge of your identity?" Dick asked. "Would that be temporary, too?"

Bruce's hands clenched into fists. "Unknown," he admitted.

"I take it that you caught that bit about System Crash being in the information business? Because they might not stop at manipulating information. They can buy and sell it, too."

Bruce's voice was tight. "Contact Oracle. She frequently networks with other hackers. Infomorph could be one of them."

Dick patted Bruce's arm. "I'm on it."

* * *

At Baron and Baron, a bespectacled man with thinning salt-and-pepper hair and a bad comb-over sat in his air-conditioned office and sweated. He wished that the phone call would come, so that he could deliver the bad news and be done with it. At least, he would have wished it, if he didn't have the awful suspicion that once he made his report, his client would be done with _him_—permanently.

The call came. He waited until the second ring before he picked up. "We have a problem," he confessed. As he stammered his explanation, he wondered whether he was signing his own death warrant.

When he finished, there was silence on the other end. Then came a long sigh. "We will deal with this matter from here," the caller announced. "Your involvement is at an end."

The bespectacled man gulped.

"I mean," the caller said, sounding irritated, "you don't need to concern yourself further with this subject."

"Oh." Relief flooded through him. "_Oh!_"

"Well, it's scarcely your fault," the caller said. "Though, we _are,_ quite naturally, curious as to how our confidential business arrangements drew the attentions of not one, not two, but _three_ vigilantes. You're certain that all of your people are trustworthy?"

"I… we're looking into it," the man said, trying to feign confidence.

"Look quickly. H.I.V.E has little patience with compromised security." The line went dead.

The bespectacled man continued to sweat as he tried to determine whether or not he'd just dodged a bullet.

* * *

"I've heard the name," Oracle said slowly, when Dick called. He'd put her on speaker, so that Bruce could hear the conversation first-hand. "Not recently, though. I can confirm what Daredevil told you: she's the only System Crash member currently believed to be at large. Not that the belief is necessarily accurate." She made an exasperated noise. "There's one big problem with trying to track down a hacker. If they're any good, they know how to hide their tracks. And Infomorph? Is _extremely_ good."

"So are you," Bruce interrupted.

The faint static on the line that always accompanied Oracle's electronic voice vanished, to be replaced by Barbara Gordon's clear tones. "High praise, coming from you," Barbara said, sounding pleased. "Unfortunately, that may or may not be enough. Think of this as the electronic Olympics. If you look at the scoring after most events, what you find is that final rankings come down to tenths—sometimes hundredths—of seconds. After each event, there's a clear winner, but most of them are too close to call ahead of time. It comes down to who had a better breakfast, who ran with a blister on their big toe, who was too excited to sleep the night before… or overtrained… or undertrained…" She paused for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was calmer. "I'm not saying I can't find her, but it's going to take some time. And maybe some more assistance from Cyborg."

"I'll tell Vic you might call in, then," Dick replied. "Just do what you can and…" he shot Bruce a meaningful look, "if you'll check in with us every six hours or so, I'll do my best not to breathe down your neck. I know that gets annoying sometimes."

"That last sentence was one word too long, Former Boy Wonder. But it's a deal. You keep your partner in check, and I'll call back at… nine-thirty-four tonight with a report. Even if it's 'Nothing to report'."

Dick waited for Bruce's grudging nod, before he confirmed, "You're on."

* * *

"I suppose," Bruce said dryly, "you and Murdock are patrolling tonight?"

"He's patrolling," Dick replied with a grin. "I'm just tagging along and protecting the picture windows."

"Huh?"

Dick shook his head. "Nothing. Yes, we're going on another fact-finding mission. I told him I'd meet him around ten-ish, after Babs checks in. Unless you need me here, I mean."

Bruce considered for a moment. "When you operated in this city," he said slowly, "did you have a roster of informants on whom you relied for underworld tips?"

"Usual suspects, you mean?" Dick said lightly. "Not really. When I was with the Titans, we tended to respond more to large-scale threats. If I happened to be taking a swing around the city and I found trouble, I dealt with it, but the Titans aren't really about street-level crime, not like you. Or Daredevil, for that matter," he added, still smiling. "Why?"

"If you did," Bruce said, "I was going to suggest delegating. Let Murdock handle inquiries into Fisk's operations while you deal with System Crash."

"Start at different points and meet in the middle?" Dick nodded. "That could work. And I might not have a roster, but I do have an idea on who to start asking. Or I will." He considered. "Babs is already working on tracking down Infomorph. I don't want to interrupt. So…"

He reached for the phone and dialed a number. "Vic, it's me. Could you shoot me over a list of recently paroled H.I.V.E operatives in the general area? If you can give me locations where they've been spotted, so much the better. Sure, I can wait a couple." He smiled. "Not that I expect every low-level flunky to have intimate knowledge of their organization's financials," he commented to Bruce, "but, hey. It's a starting point."

"Agreed."

"How are the ribs doing?"

Bruce glowered. "I've studied numerous pain-control techniques."

"I know. How are the ribs?"

Bruce's glower deepened. "They hurt like hell, if you must know."

"If we do run into Fisk, I'll give him a few punches for you."

"Be careful."

Dick noted that Bruce wasn't vetoing his offer. "Always."

* * *

Barbara called at 9:25, sounding excited. "I think I know what's going on!" she exclaimed. "I think—"

A harsh burst of static drowned out her voice, as the call terminated. Almost immediately, every light in the hotel suite went out, plunging them into darkness. "What in the…" Dick's voice trailed off, as he realized that the room was far darker than it should have been in a 'city that never slept'.

"I think the entire borough is blacked out," Bruce said from across the room. Dick guessed that he was standing by the window, but it was impossible to tell.

"Doesn't the Ritz have a generator?"

There was a moment's pause. "I believe it does," Bruce said finally. "It may take maintenance a few minutes to turn it on… _ah_!" As Bruce was talking, several small lights blinked on. "I would suspect, though, that causing a blackout was only a secondary goal."

"Causing," Dick repeated. "You think this was deliberate."

"Can you raise Oracle at the moment?"

Dick picked up the hotel phone and tried to dial out. Nothing. He turned on his laptop. "Wi-fi's down," he muttered. He pulled out his cell phone and tried Barbara's number. When that didn't work, he tried Titans Tower, hoping that a local call might go through. It didn't. "Someone doesn't want Babs sharing what she knows," he muttered.

"And they're prepared to blank out the power and communications grids to prevent it."

Dick blew air out from between his teeth. "_Won_derful. No comm-link, no computer access…" From the street below came the sounds of shattering glass and wild cries. "…And chaos down below." This was shaping up to be one _hell_ of an evening.


	12. Chapter 11

Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

**Chapter 11**

In Gotham City, Barbara Gordon—also known as Oracle—attempted to reach Bruce and Dick again. Then she slammed her hand on the console in frustration. Telephone, internet, satellite communications… nothing was working. She'd even tried to go through the JLA communications grid to no avail. She could not find a channel into New York. It was as though the city didn't exist on any network. She tried a different tactic.

All at once, her screen went black. Then, two lines of glowing letters in an eye-smarting shade of pink danced across it, flickering on and off in a strobe effect.

**ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US**

**LOL LOL LOL**

Barbara blinked. "Now that," she said to nobody in particular, "is just obnoxious."

* * *

Dick slammed his hand down on the desk in frustration. "No communications whatsoever," he snapped. "I'm trying all frequencies. It's…" His eyes grew wide. "It's like the city got hit by an EMP."

Without a word, Bruce got up from the sofa and walked into the other room.

"Uh, Bruce? That's where I'm sleeping. Your bedroom's the other one."

"I'm well aware," Bruce called back. He returned a moment later holding a small device about the size of a thumb drive, the wire to the attached earbud headphones wrapped several times around his hand so that they wouldn't trail on the floor. "I assumed you'd have brought this with you."

Dick shrugged. "Well, yeah. I like music when I'm flying and the airlines never have my favorite groups. So?"

Bruce pressed a button and the faint sound of an electric guitar solo emanated from the headphones. "Clearly, the airlines have some taste in music," Bruce remarked, deadpan.

"One sample isn't enough to prove a hypothesis."

"Maybe not about music appreciation," Bruce conceded. "However, one sample is enough to disprove one. Had an EMP on the scale necessary to impact the city been involved, the circuits in any electronic device—including your MP3—would have fused. Power is out. Communications are down. But it would appear that an electromagnetic pulse isn't our culprit."

Dick smiled. "That's something, anyway. We've already got our work cut out for us with no communications and no electricity. If our electronic devices all go dark…" He shuddered.

"Daredevil did say that our culprit was an expert hacker. If she meant to hamstring us," Bruce's voice was sour, "you have to admit that taking the communications systems offline is an effective way of cutting us off from Oracle. Taking down the power grid ensures that we'll have our hands full with street crime and rescue operations."

"Keeping us so busy we haven't got time to think and making sure that, even if we somehow find the time, we can't share our thoughts with anyone not standing next to us. It's… kind of brilliant in a twisted sort of way."

"Save your admiration for later," Bruce snapped. "You've got work to do."

"You're right," Dick said, sobering. "Give me a couple of minutes to suit up and I'll head out there."

"Do you have a starting point in mind?"

Dick shrugged. "Offhand, I'd say hooking up with the one guy who won't be fazed by a blackout in the slightest strikes me as a good idea…"

* * *

From his perch atop the Chrysler Building, Daredevil listened to the city and frowned. There was too much going on and not enough coherence to the sounds below to tell him what. Hearing too much was sometimes as bad as hearing nothing.

He listened for a few minutes longer, trying to home in on a thread of conversation, a single sentence even, that would tell him what was going on. There was too much noise, too many screams, too many car horns honking, and too few contextual cues for him to be sure where he was actually needed. Exultant cries and howls blended with shrieks of delight and rage and pain. The scene below was an incoherent jumble to his radar sense.

Enough was enough. As much as he prided himself on being able to use his remaining senses to compensate for his blindness, he wasn't about to let that same pride paralyze him into inactivity. He might not be able to navigate Manhattan at street level tonight, but he knew every flagpole along the 4.2-mile stretch between his current location and the Ritz-Carlton Battery Park.

He cast his grappling line and swung out, headed southwest toward East 42nd Street.

* * *

Daredevil was at East 14th Street, right where Union Square East became Broadway, when he picked up a familiar heartbeat and an equally familiar figure in a form-fitting outfit headed his way. Smiling, he swung over another two blocks, to touch lightly down on the roof of the venerable Strand book store. "I'm guessing you're wearing night-vision goggles," he greeted Nightwing.

The younger vigilante grinned. "So, you do know what's going on down there," he said. "I was wondering."

"More like 'night-vision goggles have a characteristic whine I've learned to recognize,'" Daredevil replied, "but I know about the power outage. Mostly because I've found I'm more effective in a fight when my opponents can't see and the way they react when I kill the lights?" He gestured toward the street below, "I'm hearing it down there. Amped up to eleven."

Tersely, Nightwing filled him in on what Batman had deduced. "I guess we should have figured on something like that happening," he admitted. "With Infomorph being a master hacker, she could have intercepted some of our back-and-forths with Oracle and jamming communications while simultaneously causing chaos…"

"I know," Daredevil sighed. "It would be nice to be able to find out who else is out here tonight. If the Avengers are in town, chances are they're already around and lending a hand."

"Are they?" Nightwing asked.

Daredevil frowned. "With so many people in range, it's harder for me to get a good read on a heartbeat. I didn't spot you until you were about four blocks away and you weren't in a quinjet or down on the ground."

Nightwing thought for a moment. "Let's swing by Titans Tower," he said. "They're an island; they might not be affected by the power outage. And if they are, I don't need electricity to steer a T-Barge across the river; I just won't be able to signal them that we're on our way. Besides, Cyborg might have some insights about Infomorph that he didn't have earlier."

Daredevil smiled. "Now that sounds like a plan."

* * *

Finding the Tower was no problem. Thanks to a high-powered generator, it was fully lit and Nightwing spotted it from miles away. "We do have an issue," Nightwing admitted. "I can see the building just fine, but this far inland, there's no lighthouse. I'm not sure whether the buildings on the opposite shore will give me enough illumination to navigate. At this hour, the office buildings are staying dark; the lights are mostly going in hotels and hospitals. How good is your radar sense at picking up obstacles?"

Daredevil smiled. "Take it slower than usual. Remember that when the lookout on the Titanic spotted the iceberg, the ship was going at almost full speed and they didn't have time to turn away."

"Roger that," Nightwing said, shining a flashlight on the dock, where several T-barges were moored. He patted one of them and Daredevil climbed aboard without hesitation. Nightwing made a face. "I can see your radar sense is already giving you an advantage," he muttered, as he used the flashlight to see where he was stepping, while he struggled to maintain his balance, as the boat rocked under his feet.

Daredevil laughed. "Need a hand?"

For answer, Nightwing pocketed his flashlight after taking a mental snapshot of the floor of the T-barge. He placed both hands on the railing, pulled into a handstand, and flipped into the barge. The boat rocked violently, but he'd planned his landing well, making sure that if he pitched backwards, he'd land on one of the padded seats.

"Nice trick," Daredevil remarked and Nightwing frowned, wondering if his companion was referring to his boarding, or to the way he'd made falling onto the seat look intentional. Then he smiled, shrugged, and bounded over to the controls.

"Got a good view?" he asked.

"Clear as day," Daredevil replied easily.

Nightwing grinned. "I'm just going to assume that's a good thing. Unmoor us while I get the engine started."

The sound of the motor didn't quite drown out Daredevil's chuckle.

* * *

As they were mooring the boat to the dock below the Tower, Cyborg's voice sounded over the intercom. "I was wondering whether you were going to show up. The rest of the team—those of us in town this week—are out assisting the NYPD. I'm holding down the fort here. Head up to the Monitor Room when the T-barge is secured." There was a fractional pause. "Oh, and Daredevil? Welcome to Titans Tower."

* * *

"It's the isolation that's the trouble," Cyborg said, after the other two heroes joined him in the Monitor Room. "Normally, I'd be able to work on getting the communications networks back up, but since I can't connect to them…" he sighed. "Any idea how far away you can see a flashlight signalling in Morse code?"

"No need," a voice said from behind them.

Nightwing and Cyborg tensed for a moment, but their reaction was as nothing compared to Daredevil's. For a moment, Dick thought that the scarlet swashbuckler was about to jump out of his skin.

"Raven," he greeted the newcomer. "Where'd you 'port in from?"

Raven pushed her hood back slightly. "Gotham. I considered that it might be prudent to apprise Oracle of our situation. She is having difficulties of her own, I'm afraid."

Nightwing took an involuntary step forward. "She's not hurt, is she?" he demanded.

"No," Raven shook her head. "Forgive me for startling you," she added, turning her head to encompass Daredevil in her apology. "She is well. However, the entity that has disrupted power and communications here is also attempting to gain control of her network."

"Trying?" Cyborg repeated. "They haven't succeeded?"

"Oracle thinks not. The infiltrator could not resist gloating over their activities, which alerted Oracle to the threat. Her systems are now offline and undergoing a full diagnostic. She expects to be operational again soon."

Nightwing sighed, partly in relief and partly in annoyance. "Soon might not be soon enough," he said. "Damn. Informorph knows how to hit us where it hurts. If we can't communicate with each other we're operating bli—" He broke off abruptly, and glanced at Daredevil. "Um…"

"I agree," was all Daredevil said, not sounding at all offended. "So…"

Cyborg glanced from Daredevil to Nightwing and then to Raven. "Uh… did I just miss something?"

Raven quirked an eyebrow. For an instant a faint smile danced on her lips. "Nothing particularly relevant to the matter at hand," she said firmly. "However, I am able to communicate telepathically with Oracle and with S.T.A.R. Labs. I imagine that if you work in concert, you will find a way to neutralize the current situation."

"You might want to see if you can reach Tony Stark as well," Daredevil suggested. "He probably has some gadget gathering dust in the Avengers Mansion basement that can get the job done."

Raven nodded. "Judging by Mr. Stark's reputation," she acknowledged, "you may be correct."

"Meanwhile," Nightwing added, "we need to find Infomorph. The hacker," he added, in case Cyborg and Raven weren't clear. "Any suggestions?"

Cyborg frowned, thinking. "I know something about her. If she's going to keep annoying us, she'll need a place with access to computers—one that's still up and running. And someplace where she can keep an eye on what we're up to."

"She's also a shapeshifter," Daredevil reminded them. "If she's caught…" His voice trailed off. "Raven!" he snapped. "Am I right?"

The young empath nodded slowly. A moment later, the three men heard her voice—not in their ears, but in their minds.

_She is here. Inside the Tower._

"Can we pinpoint her location?" Nightwing demanded. "Can we, at least, rule out that she's currently impersonating one of us?"

Raven shook her head. "I've reviewed her file. Since she is able to access both the powers and memories of the person she… replaces, there is no code, no obscure shared experience that would establish our bona fides. Thought processes are a different story. I know that you three are who you appear to be. Unfortunately," she added, "you have no way of verifying that _I_ am who I appear to be."

"I've fought her," Daredevil said. "I know of one weakness. If you all wouldn't mind standing close to one another…?"

The other three exchanged puzzled glances. Then Cyborg shrugged. "If you say so. Okay, team. I guess we huddle."

The four stood together in a tight circle, shoulders nearly touching for what felt like a long time. It probably wasn't more than a minute or two, but it was long enough for Raven to show signs of discomfort and Cyborg to feel more than a little foolish. Finally, Daredevil nodded. "We're okay."

"What was that about?" Cyborg demanded, returning to his seat at the console.

"Infomorph can't control her power all that well. When last we fought, I maneuvered her next to a beehive. I think. It might've been a wasps' or hornets' nest. Anyway, she involuntarily took on some of the thoughts of those insects—whatever they were. And since insects don't exactly think the way we do, the experience left her temporarily disoriented. I imagine she's sort of a psychic chameleon, taking on the characteristics of whomever or whatever she's closest to. Once she's imprinted, she can maintain that form for a while, just so long as she doesn't get close to anyone else for any length of time."

"So, by having us all stand next to each other…" Cyborg nodded.

"That," Daredevil smiled, "and I figured that between your cybernetics," he nodded to Cyborg, "your telepathy," he tilted his head toward Raven, "my enhanced senses, and," he turned to Nightwing, "your normal thought patterns," going by everything I know of her, she wouldn't have been able to keep up her camouflage for long."

"Like sticking a chameleon on a bolt of plaid fabric," Nightwing said, smiling.

Daredevil nodded. "Close enough."

"Enhanced senses?" Cyborg repeated Daredevil's earlier statement curiously.

Daredevil nodded. "Well, four out of five, anyway. My eyesight isn't anything to write home about." He frowned for a moment. Then a slow grin spread across his face. "Actually… I think I might have an idea on how we can contain her."

* * *

"You sure you're up for this?" Nightwing asked, as the two made their way down a long corridor. "You seemed a little jumpy back there."

Daredevil smiled. "Not quite in keeping with the 'Man without Fear' nickname, you mean?"

"Um…"

Daredevil paused for a moment and leaned one hand against the smooth metal wall. "I got rattled," he admitted, a trifle sheepishly. "With a radar sense that gives me a 360-degree field of… perception, to say nothing of my absentmindedly taking note of the number of heartbeats in a room the same way that you probably do an automatic head-count, let's just say it's hard to sneak up on me under normal circumstances. A person who suddenly materializes a couple of yards away with no fanfare? Not normal circumstances." He shrugged. "She startled me is all."

"Ah," Nightwing grinned. "If it helps, it took us a little while to get used to Raven, too."

"By the way, thanks for not blowing my cover."

"Sorry?"

"I'm not self-conscious about being blind, but it's not something I actively broadcast. Something like that getting out could hurt my effectiveness in the field."

"Batman told me about that stunt you pulled with the light switch."

"Old trick," Daredevil admitted. "If the lights are on, turn them off. If they're off and you hear the whine of night-vision goggles, turn them on. Even if you don't hear the whine, turn them on, because the sudden change in illumination will temporarily blind them, putting them at a disadvantage. Oh, and always try to be aware of the time of day, because the only way this ploy works at high noon is if there are no windows in the room."

Nightwing laughed.

Daredevil sighed. "Once word gets out that I can't see, well, to be honest, half the time, my life would be easier. That thing I told you about where people forget that I can hold my own in a fight once they find out about my blindness? It would work on some of the crooks too, no question about it. What concerns me are the smarter ones. The ones who'll start to think about _how_ I must be getting my information if not through visual cues. Kingpin's not the only guy who can activate an automatic sprinkler system, _but_ so far, he _is_ the only guy to realize what that thing does to my hypersenses. Not to mention stink-bombs, ultrasonics, dog whistles… Believe me when I tell you it's very much to my advantage that everyone assumes I can see, and not just so they don't connect Daredevil with a certain local defense attorney."

"A lot of the people we deal with tend to think that Batman's some sort of silent, scary demon who's impervious to bullets and walks through walls," Nightwing replied easily. "Believe _me_, I get image. Cyborg won't find out anything from me. Raven's a telepath though. She might have—"

"She has," Daredevil admitted. "She told me mentally back in the Monitor Room. But, like you, she'll keep it to herself." He sighed. "I guess it can't be helped. Still, at times, I worry that too many people are already in the know about it and, one of these days, it's going to bite me. For now, though…"

"You sure you're okay with this?"

Daredevil nodded. "I've had a lifetime to deal with this particular double-edged sword. She hasn't. It's not going to be fun for me, but for a tyro at heightened senses? Even if all she gets are the hypersenses, minus the blindness, she's going to have her hands full."

Nightwing nodded back. "We hope."

"Always."

Despite what he'd told Nightwing, Daredevil felt more than a little apprehensive as he and Nightwing did a sweep of the Titans' living area, stretching his hypersenses to what felt like their limits, while Nightwing donned infra-red goggles and brandished a hand-held scanner.

"I'm coming up empty," Nightwing admitted. "How about you?"

Daredevil sighed. "The same."

The intercom crackled to life then and Cyborg's voice filled the room. "I've been at this for almost fourteen hours," he said, sounding like he was smothering a yawn. "Could one of you take over for an hour? Raven went back outside and I need a break."

Daredevil turned to Nightwing. "Would you rather?" he asked politely.

Nightwing considered. "Maybe you ought to. No offense, but I know this building better than you do. I might think of some more possible hiding places if I keep at this."

"Noted," Daredevil smiled. "How do I respond?"

Nightwing gestured vaguely toward the wall. "There are two buttons at the bottom edge of the box. Hit the one on the right."

"Guys?" Cyborg called again.

Daredevil was still smiling as he walked over to the wall. To his radar sense, the intercom box appeared like a square protrusion on the wall. "This is Daredevil," he replied. "On my way."

"You remember how to get back?" Nightwing asked.

"I think so," Daredevil replied confidently. "Not sure if I can work the equipment, though."

"Odds are, you won't have to," Nightwing replied. "We just need someone on-duty at all times. Cyborg will show you how to handle communications. If anyone checks in, assuming it's not urgent, take a message. If it is urgent, or if anything else comes up, call."

"Roger that." He turned on his heel and left.

Nightwing did a final sweep of Gar's room, smiling a bit as he took in the origami menagerie that occupied the top two shelves of his fellow Titan's bookcase. Then he exited and continued on to the next room.

* * *

Daredevil was sitting at the computer array pretending to monitor the numerous computer screens. Cyborg had shown him how to work the communications console should communications be restored, but thus far, they were still offline.

He heard the door hiss open behind him and, although with 360-degree radar, he had no need to turn around he did so for the sake of politeness.

"Find anything?" he asked, as Nightwing entered. Nightwing didn't answer immediately. He felt a faint twinge in his skull, not pain precisely, but not pleasant either. "Hang on," he said to Nightwing. Then, "Go ahead, Raven. I'm here."

As Raven relayed her information, he smiled. "Thanks," he said. "Keep me posted."

"Good news?" Nightwing asked, coming over to stand behind Daredevil's chair and resting his hands on the top of the seat back.

"I'm not sure," Daredevil admitted. "Power's already back in some parts of the city and she thinks that some communications will likely be restored within the hour."

Nightwing frowned. "So, how is that not good news?"

"Well," Daredevil said slowly as he noted Nightwing's hands slipping off of the seat leather, "it is for me and the Titans, but," he locked his hands on the other man's wrists before they could encircle his throat, "it kind of puts a crimp in your plans… doesn't it, Infomorph?"

Under his grip, the wrists seemed to shrink and flatten and he held on tightly. Then, without warning, they expanded once more, forcing his hands open.

"What gave me away?" Infomorph demanded, still speaking in Nightwing's voice. "Not that it matters. With this equipment, my victory is assured."

"Maybe," Daredevil said, rising to his feet, "but you'll have to go through me to get to it."

Infomorph laughed. "You have no idea how eagerly I'm looking forward to that."


	13. Chapter 12

A/N: Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

**Chapter 12**

Consoles were one of the banes of Daredevil's existence. It wasn't the consoles themselves that were the issue; his radar sense brought buttons, dials, and levers into sharp relief, whether they were raised or recessed. However, being able to 'see' the controls was useless, when he couldn't see what he was doing on the screen. So, when he wanted to reach Nightwing and Cyborg, he could only hope that the button he pressed for the intercom was the same one that Cyborg had pointed out to him earlier.

Infomorph laughed. "Do you really think they'll be able to protect you?" she demanded mockingly. "Oh, no, my old enemy. I'm very much afraid…" she went on, as her contours began to shift, taking on height and bulk. Her flat electronic voice deepened and gained further emotional depth. From the top of the now-streamlined shape that was her head, two small horns protruded. "…that they won't even know who their enemy is!"

The doors to the monitor room slid open and the two Titans-in-residence dashed in and stopped.

"Don't just stand there!" Infomorph exclaimed. "Stop her!"

Cyborg and Nightwing glanced at each other. "Any bright ideas on figuring out which one's which?" Cyborg asked, looking at the two Daredevils in front of him in confusion.

Nightwing nodded. "Sorry about this," he said in a low voice that, perhaps, only one Daredevil heard clearly. He pressed a panel on the wall.

Cyborg sounded bewildered. "What good is _that_ going to do?" he wondered aloud.

And then all hell broke loose.

* * *

The two figures in crimson both heard the pneumatic hiss and loud clicks as the Kevlar shields slid over the delicate electronic controls and locked in place. Then a fire alarm sounded directly overhead and shockingly loud. At the same time, the automatic sprinklers activated, sending high-pressure jets of water beating down on the monitor area. The barrage ricocheted off of the Kevlar, hitting the walls and rebounding on the two identical vigilantes in the middle of it.

Both Daredevils staggered. But only one dropped to the ground, hands clamped over his ears, trying to curl up into the fetal position. "Make it stop," he whimpered in obvious pain. "Why is it so… loud?"

The other Daredevil shook himself a few times, as though trying to brush off the worst of the effects. "Hypersenses aren't always as wonderful as you might think," he said, strain apparent in his voice despite his best efforts to sound nonchalant. "Right, Infomorph?"

The Daredevil on the floor shuddered as the high-pressure jets continued to beat down. Then, his form began to change, shedding bulk, exchanging muscle for curves and fair skin for dark. The red costume changed to green and gold. Infomorph's shudders stilled, but she made no attempt to rise from the floor.

Nightwing turned off the sprinklers. He glanced at Cyborg. "Forcefield containment cell, do you think?" he asked.

Cyborg nodded. "Probably best, if we're dealing with someone who can go two-dimensional." His gaze flickered to the only person in the room currently wearing red.

"You okay, Daredevil?"

Matt nodded back. "I've been better," he admitted. "But, at least, I knew this was coming and I've had a couple of decades or so to deal with my abilities—two factors that worked against Infomorph. Nice work, Nightwing."

Dick grinned. "I don't usually get thanked for putting people through hell. Then again," he added thoughtfully, "hell's kind of familiar ground for you, right?"

"In more ways than one," Matt said smiling. "In more ways than one."

* * *

The two Titans looked up as Daredevil re-entered the monitor room. "Well?" Nightwing asked. "Any luck?"

Daredevil shook his head in annoyance. "She's not talking. Unfortunately, we don't know any more about who she's working for or what her goal is than what we've already pieced together. And we can't prove any of what we know; not so it'll hold up in court. Or clear Bruce's name," he added.

"I've been making progress on getting power and communications back up," Cyborg said. "No word from Oracle yet, but her diagnostics are likely to take some time."

"Is Infomorph human?" Nightwing asked suddenly. "Or is she more of an AI? Or both? Because if she's some sort of AI or a cyborg, then, Vic—"

Cyborg nodded and rose to his feet. "Right!" he exclaimed. "I might be able to interface with her to get what we need to know!"

Daredevil was frowning. "It's an idea," he said, "but would there be a risk that she could use that interface against _you_, instead?"

For a moment, Cyborg's posture slumped. Then he lifted his chin. "She's not going anywhere for the time being. I'll hold off until Oracle's back online. Between the two of us, we can probably rig up some kind of firewall to keep Infomorph from sinking her hooks in too deeply. At the very least, Oracle can keep an eye on my cybernetics and alert you if I'm in any way compromised."

Nightwing nodded. "I think that works. Any objection?"

Daredevil smiled. "No, I think that probably covers any reasonable contingency."

"Great. In that case," Nightwing said, "Cyborg, let me give you a hand with the repairs. Bruce gets antsy when he has to sit stuff out. Probably best to check in with him sooner, rather than later."

* * *

It took almost two hours before they were able to connect with Oracle. It was almost that long before Cyborg returned from interrogating Infomorph. He had a disgusted look on his face.

"I'll be glad when we can turn her over to the authorities," he said. "At least when Beast Boy shapeshifts, he stays _green_. If Infomorph somehow breaks loose, finding her again—never mind recapturing her—is going to be 'fun'."

"What did you find out?" Daredevil asked.

Cyborg smiled. "She's working for H.I.V.E. I don't know if I trust everything she told me, but taking her at face value for the fun of it, it seems like Baron and Baron has become the financial company of choice for organized crime. H.I.V.E is a bit late to jump on that particular bandwagon and they wanted some assurances that their dealings would be secure. They hired Infomorph to see how easy it would be to penetrate Baron and Baron's security—I'm guessing that the more ethical hackers tend to steer clear of outfits who run around in black-and-yellow spandex while cackling maniacally; just a hunch. She found a quiet office to work in, one where she wasn't expecting to be disturbed, and settled in. And if H.I.V.E hadn't gotten greedy," Cyborg added, "odds are, we wouldn't have gotten involved."

"Come again?" Nightwing asked.

Cyborg shrugged. "If Infomorph hadn't happened on Baron and Baron's client list, or if H.I.V.E had managed to resist the temptation to get some insider knowledge on their competition, she probably would have been long gone when Batman showed up. As it was, when he came in the window, she was in the middle of deactivating one of the system safeguards. She panicked, went two-dimensional and flattened herself against the wall. That's a plus for you, by the way," he added. "Batman's back was to her when she changed. She never saw his face and she didn't make the physical contact that would have been necessary for her to absorb his skills or memories. The minus, though, is that because she had to break off the hack in a hurry, building security detected something wrong. To cover her tracks, once she was alone in the office again, she returned to the computer and duplicated the only part of Batman she had seen, namely the back of his head. The way I understand it, she can take on the characteristics of anyone she comes in contact with, but if all she gets is a rear view, she can't determine what someone looks like from the front or vice versa."

Daredevil nodded with a thoughtful frown. "I did not know that," he admitted.

"Guess we should probably head off," Nightwing said. "Give Batman the good news and all that. Unless you need some help keeping watch on Infomorph?"

Cyborg shook his head. "Nah, she's not going anywhere until the authorities come to collect her. I've alerted S.T.A.R. Labs. They'll take precautions to make sure nothing goes wrong in transit."

"Yeah, can't have her disguising herself as one of the guards," Nightwing grinned. "Or making a break for it through a crowd. Thanks, Vic," he added. "You've been a big help."

In the barge back to Manhattan, Daredevil cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You realize," he said seriously, "that proving that Infomorph was the one stealing information doesn't necessarily exonerate Bruce. They could have been working together. Infomorph's disguising herself to look like him only corroborates the idea that they were in close proximity."

Nightwing sighed. "I know," he admitted. "But we know what H.I.V.E was up to, we know how the data was compromised, and we know that the city's unlikely to suffer another blackout for the foreseeable future. I say we chalk up a partial victory tonight and worry about the other part tomorrow." He smiled. "Seriously, we did good tonight."

Daredevil smiled back in response.

* * *

Dick sounded considerably less enthusiastic back at the hotel. "I thought that once we found the real hacker, we'd automatically clear your name," he admitted to Bruce. "Looks like we've got a ways to go, yet."

Bruce nodded sourly. "Oracle has managed to keep this out of the press, thus far," he said. "Normally, I couldn't care less about whether WE's stock drops a few points now and again, but a scandal like this could damage the company's reputation too severely." He shook his head. "If the situation isn't resolved favorably—and soon—I may need to consider stepping down as CEO." He flinched when Dick's hand came down on his forearm. "I don't _want_ to," he said, covering Dick's hand with his own. "Not like this. But I can't deny that it could come to that." He sighed. "I don't intend to drag this thing out in the legal system for what could be years. It would just be much better if the case were to be dropped before it becomes a matter for the courts."

"I hear that," Dick said. "And Matt and I are still working on it."

"I know."

Dick sighed. "Forced inactivity's getting to you, huh? Can't patrol to work out your frustrations, can't dangle Kingpin off the Empire State Building—"

"I doubt I could do that even if my ribs were healed," Bruce muttered. "Not if I meant to pull him back to safety afterwards."

"You can dream, can't you?"

Bruce tried to glower, but his lips twitched involuntarily. "Perhaps," he hedged. He shook his head. "You're right, though. I would prefer to be a bit more… active. And in a location with fewer spectators than the hotel's gymnasium."

Of course. Couldn't have word getting out about playboy dilettante Bruce Wayne having moves that could make him a contender for the next U.S. Olympic team. "Well," Dick ventured, "if you'd like to come back with me to Titans Tower and have a friendly chat with Infomorph, I _guess_ you could check out our athletics facilities while you're there. And if you wanted a friendly spar, that could be arranged, too."

This time, the lip-twitch morphed into a quick smile.

* * *

"All contact?" the man in black and yellow repeated in clipped tones. "And since the communications grid was restored, there's been nothing?"

The H.I.V.E underling nodded. "Infomorph should have reported in over two hours ago."

His superior pondered that. "Continue to scan all frequencies. If her signal was detected, she might try to reach us via some other channel. What of our person inside Fisk Industries?"

"No communications for nearly a week, sir."

Because the superior was wearing a full helmet with a tinted visor, it was impossible to gauge his expression. When he spoke, his tone was measured. "He's been known to go as long as two weeks without checking in. I'll order no action, as yet. But keep a closer watch on Fisk's movements. If he's aware of our activities, he'll intend to strike at us when our guard is down. If you allow him that opportunity, I will have the reason why of you."

The underling gulped. "I understand and obey, sir," he replied with a stiff salute.

"Dismissed. Go about your business."

When the underling left, his superior removed his helmet and wiped his forehead. He hoped that Infomorph was either still free or in the custody of local law enforcement. She could escape from there, given sufficient time. If she was in Fisk's hands, though, whether she regained her freedom was immaterial. If Fisk knew what she had been up to…

The H.I.V.E operative groaned. "…We are so screwed."

* * *

The next morning, Wilson Fisk sat in his office at his executive desk, behind closed doors and soundproofed walls. A white-noise device that resembled nothing so much as a smoke detector was bolted to the ceiling to confound any potential eavesdroppers. The precautions served him well when matters pertinent to his less legitimate activities spilled over into his regular workday.

"So," he rumbled, "you're telling me that it was not Wayne who broke into your systems, but this… Infomorph." He snorted. "I must say that I find this revelation more plausible than the notion that one of Gotham City's most celebrated nullities is a master computer hacker in his spare time. I do not scoff at the possibility that he may engage in extra-legal enterprises, but a man of his resources would hardly sully his hands with direct involvement." And, Fisk thought wryly, he himself was in a position to understand that better than most.

Elias Baron, VP Risk Management for Baron and Baron nodded nervously. "We're not certain how she got in, but we're hoping to have an answer shortly."

"My hopes mirror yours," Fisk said, in a tone that was almost gentle. "Because I have heard this woman's name before. She is a mercenary, and her services come at a significant cost. Wayne can afford her rate and might even be willing to suffer some embarrassment to deflect attention from the true corporate spy. If so," his expression darkened, "he's not altogether the fop he appears. However," he added, "if I were you, I would not jump to any conclusions, as of yet. Whoever hired Infomorph knew precisely what data to have her seek out. I will be scouring my organization for any associates of questionable loyalty. I would recommend that you do the same."

Baron nodded, tight-lipped. "I'll do that, Mr. Fisk."

"Excellent. Oh, and Elias?" Fisk smiled benignly, rather like a predatory Buddha. "Should you find such a person, I trust you'll inform me. It would give me great pleasure to meet that individual and debrief them… personally."

Baron swallowed hard.

* * *

That night, patrol was useful as a catharsis, but it brought them no closer to their goal of clearing Bruce.

"Is there no way that the evidence we recovered could be admissible in court?" Nightwing asked. "Even if we can't exonerate Bruce right away, we can still cause some real damage to the criminal syndicates."

"The evidence that we, working as vigilantes—borderline criminals ourselves in the eyes of the law—obtained without a search warrant, with no signed or otherwise recorded confession to go along with it?" Daredevil sighed. "Technically, we have no right to do what we do, and any lawyer cross-examining us would make full use of that very salient point." He smiled bitterly. "And then, we'd probably meet at Josie's and I'd vent to you about the nerve of that other attorney." He shook his head. "And five minutes later, I'd be shaking my head and telling you that I can't believe the other attorney had missed the opportunity to rake us over the coals on some other points and bemoaning our being shown up by someone who wasn't even all that thorough."

Nightwing chuckled.

Daredevil shrugged. A moment later, he winced as Nightwing's commlink beeped.

"You can hear that?" Nightwing asked, sounding surprised. Without waiting for an answer, he opened the channel. "Nightwing here." As he listened, his smile faded. "Damn," he muttered. "Thanks for letting me know." He turned to Daredevil. "Guess you caught what Cyborg told me, too."

Daredevil nodded. "Infomorph escaped during transit? Yes."

Nightwing sighed. "Not much we can do about it now beyond keeping our eyes—and other senses—peeled."

"I know."

"Damn," he said again.

* * *

"Your coffee, sir."

The H.I.V.E. superior looked up and blinked in surprise. The woman holding the white ceramic mug was very slender, very blonde, and very inappropriately dressed—in a French Maid outfit that looked like it had come from a dollar store's Halloween costume display.

"Um…" He gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile. "Uh… thank you. Um… Are you new here?" She had to be. He'd have remembered seeing her before.

The woman smiled. And then her features shifted, flattened, and elongated, transforming her into the operative he'd been hoping would report in. "Infomorph. Interesting… look."

"I don't mind being remembered," the woman said, "as long as I cannot be identified."

"I trust that your mission was a success?"

Informorph's face went flat. "I was successful in locating the data that was not stored in the cloud," she said. "While I was retrieving it, I was surprised by an intruder. Concerned that he would detect my presence or activity, I assumed his guise and allowed the cameras to detect me. Unfortunately, the influx of security personnel forced me to abort my retrieval. When I returned to complete my task, the data was gone."

The superior half-rose from his chair, as though he meant to lunge across the desk, but he caught himself in time and settled back down. "Gone?" he repeated. "Where?"

"Unknown. The hard drive had been removed from the computer I had been accessing."

H.I.V.E did not tolerate failure easily. He'd had to convince several of his own higher-ups that employing Infomorph was an avenue worth pursuing. He had at least two underlings who would be only too delighted to discover how precarious his perch had just become. "Unknown?" he echoed. "You are a sophisticated computer program given life, Infomorph. Data is your currency. But incompetence has a cost. You will uncover the location of the drive and bring it to me within forty-eight hours, or you may find yourself encoded on a number of five-and-a-quarter floppies—a storage medium which only a miniscule fraction of the population currently retains the means to access. I assure you," he continued, "such a punishment would carry the same weight as a life sentence for one of your… nature."

Infomorph was no longer smiling. "I shall not fail you," she said.

"You already have. What remains to be seen is whether you can redeem yourself. For your sake, I hope it may be so." He lifted a snow globe off his desk and shook it, sending a blizzard of soap flakes cascading over a diorama of plastic dinosaurs in a tropical paradise. "You are dismissed," he said, not looking up.

* * *

"I'm not even going to ask how many hours of sleep you got last night," Foggy sighed, taking in the Styrofoam clamshell container on Matt's desk, open to reveal two large crêpes. Matt had already cut into one, revealing strawberry filling—a relatively healthy offering, had the thin pancakes not been topped with a generous dollop of whipped cream and drizzled in chocolate sauce. "The only time you go for something that isn't a high-fibre cereal or some kind of yogurt smoothie is when you're exhausted."

"Thank you for finishing your fried-egg-and-sausage platter before you came in to yell at me," Matt murmured.

"This isn't yelling!" Foggy exclaimed.

"It is for me," Matt muttered. He shook his head. "Sorry. It's the usual." He gave Foggy a brief rundown of his last couple of evenings. "…And," he finished, "maybe it _is_ sleep deprivation kicking in and doing a number on my memory, but I can't for the life of me come up with any way that what's on that drive could be admissible in court, short of replacing it at Baron and Baron and coming up with some grounds for a search warrant." He lifted another forkful of crêpe to his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and fastidiously wiped whipped cream off of his upper lip with a napkin. "I hate when that happens."

"I know," Foggy sighed.

"The evidence that can get them shut down is _in_ our hands…"

"I know."

"And it'll get tossed out of court if we try to use it."

"Uh-huh."

Matt popped the last bit of the first crêpe in his mouth and chewed angrily.

Foggy sighed. "Give me the details and I'll see what I can find. At least _I_ got a full eight hours, last night."

Matt realized that his fingers were sticky from the chocolate syrup. He opened his desk drawer with his clean hand and extracted a narrow cylinder in plastic wrap. He tore it open with his teeth, freeing the moist towelette. "You should get out more," he murmured.

Foggy shrugged. "A couple of nights ago, I got to visit the Ritz-Carlton," he pointed out. "Meanwhile, I take comfort in knowing that at least one of us can avoid snoozing in court."

Matt smiled at that. "Foggy… thanks," he said sincerely. "I know I don't always say it, but thanks."

"Hey," Foggy grinned back. "What are friends for?"

* * *

There was only so long that Dick could sit in the hotel suite and pretend that Bruce's scowls weren't affecting him. Finally, around one o'clock, he gave into his restlessness and went for a stroll in the Battery. He was admiring the Statue of Liberty from the waterfront promenade when he heard footsteps approaching, accompanied by a faint tapping sound. He turned with a broad smile. "Kind of a long walk from Hell's Kitchen, isn't it?" he asked.

Matt drew a couple of steps closer. "I generally think better in the fresh air," he said quietly. "And I really think we need to talk…"


	14. Chapter 13

Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

**Chapter 13**

It was all about to come crashing down around him. Elias Baron had known that staying involved with Wilson Fisk was a risky venture. Other firms had cut their losses and prospered. He'd thought that if Baron and Baron made sure to deal only with Fisk's legitimate holdings, they could keep their profits up and their association with an alleged criminal safely under wraps. For over a year, everything had been fine. They'd removed Fisk's endorsements from their brochures and other corporate literature. They'd handled his investments. And they'd watched their bottom line grow.

And then, he'd gone over some reports and realized that Fisk had been using them to funnel money from illegal casinos, racketeering, and a score of other questionable activities into legitimate investments. He'd thought about notifying the proper authorities, but it would have raised questions about how Baron and Baron could have dealt with Fisk and been oblivious to his criminal activities. The press would have ruined them. Ruined a financial empire four generations in the making. Even if they'd believe him when he protested that he hadn't realized, it would, at best, make him appear a naïve fool. It would destroy his reputation. It would cost him their clients' faith. It would cost him _everything._ No, he couldn't allow the Baron name to go down in disgrace.

He couldn't destroy the incriminating files. Once Fisk found out about it, he'd be a dead man. Instead, Baron had done some research and learned who some of the other players were on that side of the law. Word got around when a person seriously wanted to know such things. He thought he'd been clever, getting in touch with H.I.V.E., arranging for one of their operatives to steal the incriminating files. Fisk wouldn't pour out his anger on Baron and Baron if a rival organization got through their security. If he was especially lucky, then Fisk and H.I.V.E would annihilate each other. It had been perfect.

And then, it had all gone wrong. Wayne caught on camera. Daredevil, Batman, _and_ Nightwing involved. His own grandson caught on the security footage welcoming Fisk into the building after hours some nights ago (and then, all security footage for the next several hours conveniently erased). He should have a talk with Lewis soon, but he was more than a little nervous about doing so. If his grandson was working with Fisk, then sounding him out might be dangerous. If Lewis's meeting with Fisk had been for something innocuous, then he wouldn't have been ushering the man into the building in the dead of night. And, if there was something shady going on, then presenting Lewis with the evidence might be signing his own death warrant. Better to hold off on a confrontation for now.

He chewed on the end of his pen—a nervous habit he thought he'd broken years ago—and the worry lines on his face deepened.

If Fisk and H.I.V.E put aside their animosity long enough to sit down to compare notes…

Elias Baron pulled the brandy bottle out of his bottom desk drawer and poured himself a glass.

If that happened, then just as in the other scenario, he'd be a dead man.

* * *

Dick heard Matt out and gave a heavy sigh. "So, either we take down Baron and Baron and blow whatever they've got cooking wide open now, or we resign ourselves to a long court battle," he summarized.

"Well, they might settle out of court," Matt said, "but from what Bruce told me earlier, there were enough people watching him get hauled off by security that anything short of exoneration could cause significant damage to his reputation." He shook his head. "I'm aware that his being generally perceived as a playboy dilettante carries a certain level of notoriety, but that kind of thing plays out on the gossip pages and disappears as soon as the next scandal comes along. This… it's not enough to have the charges dismissed due to insufficient evidence or get him off on a technicality. I mean," Matt continued, "it's enough to settle the legal aspects. But I'd imagine that the embarrassment to his company would be…"

Dick sighed again. "Bruce and I were discussing that. We were hoping we were wrong. Fine. _I_ was hoping. Bruce never wants to be wrong, even when it would be for the best. So…"

Matt smiled grimly. "So, we keep at it. Foggy's researching precedents, trying to find some way that what we've already found could possibly be admissible. It's not looking good on that front, but there still could be a chance. I'm working on Bruce's case as-is. I'm pretty sure I can get him off, but that doesn't do a thing for the possible repercussions."

"So, we keep up the pressure with Kingpin and Baron and Baron and hope something breaks," Nightwing finished.

"Agreed. And that's partly where you come in. Because my usual MO is to go in swinging and busting heads. Fine as far as it goes, but we'll accomplish a lot more if we're sure they're the _right _heads. Now, while I'm a fair detective, I think I'm wise to defer to your expertise in that area. I trust that your 'second only to Batman' reputation is come by honestly?"

Dick ducked his head. "I…uh…" He sounded more than a bit embarrassed. "Yeah, probably," he admitted. "But why settle for second best, when the top expert is probably getting a bad case of cabin fever a few blocks away? Bad enough he has to sit out the physical action. If he thinks we're deliberately trying to keep him away from the mental exercise, then neither of us is ever going to hear the end of it!"

* * *

Bruce was waiting with an impatient expression when Dick got back to the hotel. "I was just about to leave without you," he snapped, reaching for a ratty brown jacket that Dick was positive he hadn't packed. Dick saw a creased broad-brimmed hat lying on the coffee table as well.

"Where are you going that you need a disguise?" Dick asked. "And should I change, too?"

"I've laid out the appropriate clothing on your bed. If Baron and Baron has someone following me to see if I'll lead them to the stolen data, I'd rather not be overconfident. I don't know this city anywhere near as well as I'd like. That'll make it harder for me to lose a tail."

It was on the tip of Dick's tongue to point out that he knew New York fairly well himself, but he also knew that Bruce hated following anyone else's lead. More to the point, he figured that Bruce still had to be stinging from the setbacks and defeats he'd been suffering recently. Under those circumstances, taking charge was more or less a way of proving to himself that he was still in the game. "Fine," he said with a sigh. "Where are we going?"

"You invited me to a spar at Titans Tower, didn't you?" Bruce asked. "I think we can dispense with unexpected media photographers wondering why Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson are borrowing a T-Barge. And we don't need Kingpin wondering the same thing."

"You know, it's not like the Bat-suit melts in direct sunlight."

Bruce glowered. "No," he said, "but since you've been followed as Nightwing before, and since Kingpin is still trying to retrieve what we took from him, I'd rather not dress like that during the day. Non-descript clothes, wigs, and some way of disguising our faces, should keep us sufficiently inconspicuous. And if not," he added mildly, "I suppose the sort of people Kingpin's likely to have watching for us will serve as a light warmup for that practice spar."

"Your ribs…"

Bruce's glower deepened. "Let _me_ worry about that aspect. You get changed."

Dick shook his head in resignation. "Whatever you say," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "Whatever you say."

* * *

When Lewis Baron had been eight years old, he'd sent in five Flakies Cereal box-tops, plus $4.95 shipping and handling to receive a pair of X-ray vision sunglasses. At fourteen, he'd installed a hidden camera behind a swimming safety poster in the girls' locker room. At eighteen, when he finally gained control of the money that he'd been earning for product endorsements, he'd set aside a portion of the total to spend on various spy gadgets and hi-tech gizmos. It gave him something to talk about besides gymnastics. He'd even thought that some of the technology would be of interest to his grandfather and great uncle for improving corporate security. They'd smiled at him indulgently when he'd broached the subject, but continued with their existing arrangements.

Lewis had taken the disappointment in stride. Grandpa and Uncle Samuel wouldn't be running the company forever. He'd already started sounding his father out; Dad had evinced slightly more interest. Perhaps when the old order changed, Dad might implement some of his ideas. If not, Lewis knew that, in time, it would be his turn to call the shots. Meanwhile, he still had his gadgets.

He was glad of the rear-view sunglasses, which allowed him to see behind him and alert him should anyone be tailing him. If anybody was, it would put him in a rather delicate position. He'd received the text late last night, instructing him to come to a certain address alone and tell nobody where he was going. That kind of cloak-and-dagger intrigue would have brought him here, even if the message hadn't come from Wilson Fisk.

In truth, however, Lewis knew that he had no choice in the matter.

Nobody said 'no' to Wilson Fisk.

But he had a feeling that Grandpa and Uncle Samuel would be horrified, should a photographer for the sports or society pages capture him on film in this part of the city. And if his carelessness were to cause a situation for Fisk…

Involuntarily, Lewis shuddered. He could live with himself if he embarrassed his family. He would not live with anyone—including himself—if he did the same to Fisk.

Of that, he had no doubt whatsoever.

* * *

"Take it easy, will ya?" Dick protested, only half-joking. "I'm not Kingpin."

Bruce charged toward him again and Dick almost didn't veer away in time. "No," he replied. "But you should be able to counter my moves easily enough. And might I remind you," he added, aiming a sweeping kick to the back of Dick's knee, "that this spar was your idea?"

Dick flipped out of the way and surged forward to lash out with his escrima, directing the majority of his blows to Bruce's shoulders and knees. "That was before I knew you were going to ask Raven to heal you," he said. "Seriously. I thought we'd have a friendly little workout, a lighter change of pace from what's been going on for the last few days—"

Bruce's hand snaked out and caught hold of one of Dick's wrists, immobilizing that arm and pulling him sufficiently off-balance that the blow from the stick in Dick's other hand only glanced off his arm. A slight widening of his eyes was Dick's only indication that the strike still stung. "Had I realized that she was in town," Bruce said, "I would have asked you to bring me here in the first place instead of trusting Murdock's back-alley clinic." He slid Dick neatly over one shoulder and tossed him to the mat.

"Are you still sulking because you couldn't intimidate the nurse?" Dick demanded, as he pulled Bruce after him. "Sheesh, it's not like Leslie would have backed down."

"I can talk her around," Bruce snapped, as he tried to pin Dick to the mat.

Had Dick not been a top-level acrobat, that move might well have ended the spar. Instead, Dick brought his legs up and hooked them around Bruce's waist, unbalancing his mentor enough so that he could break free. "Only because she knows Alfred will drug your tea if you're really in bad shape," he bantered, slamming Bruce into the mat.

Bruce growled.

Dick grinned. "Fine. You can join Matt and me tonight."

"Don't you mean," Bruce huffed, as he broke loose once more, "to say that you'd like to tag along with _me_ this evening? I'm not totally against the idea of backup."

Dick's eyebrows shot up. "I'm not sure whether that means you're still hurting worse than you're letting on, or whether between Kingpin and yours truly, someone actually slammed some sense into you."

"You don't _have_ to tag along, you know."

"Right," Dick grinned. "I turn you down and from now until the end of time you'll use that to justify not asking for backup again. 'The last time I asked, you weren't having any of it. I've learned my lesson,' right?"

Bruce snorted. "I think you're exaggerating by a significant margin."

"What's the new code for the Batmobile?"

Bruce tried to maintain his glower, but a slight chuckle betrayed him. "Nice try." He lunged forward.

"That's what I thought," Dick grinned back, sliding into a defensive posture.

The spar continued.

* * *

Fisk was facing the window when Lewis walked into the office. He didn't turn around. "Have a seat, Mr. Baron," he said, in a voice that wasn't loud, but seemed to fill the entire room. It was a rumble, rather than a boom, but it was still thunder. And unlike the natural order, Lewis suspected that this thunder served as a prelude to a lightning strike. He sat down in the padded armchair before the massive mahogany desk. "I'd like to thank you for responding positively to my invitation."

"Of…" to Lewis's horror, his voice emerged as a squeak. He tried again. "Of course, Mr. Fisk. And I'd like to take advantage of this opportunity to express my apologies to you for my performance that night. I'm working to improve—"

Fisk waved him to silence. "No doubt. At any rate, I'd hardly have expected you to emerge triumphant over three masked vigilantes, though I would have hoped you'd have lasted longer. No, I summoned you here for a different matter. I realize, of course, that I could go directly to the elder Barons with this question, but I suspect that, given their track record, they'll merely attempt to disavow any knowledge of the subject." He turned slowly from the window and crossed the three steps to sit behind the desk, across from Lewis. "Those tactics may work well for the general public—perhaps even for the shareholders. But I need to know facts. So," he steepled his fingers and smiled benignly, "tell me, Lewis. How long has your firm been dealing with H.I.V.E.?"

Lewis swallowed. "I don't actually know, Mr. Fisk," he admitted. "I don't handle corporate customers—only individuals."

"For individuals with over two million dollars liquidity."

"Yes. It's certainly possible that some of those accounts belong to high-ranking H.I.V.E. members, but you understand, of course, that such individuals—should they exist—would hardly declare their membership in that organization."

"Of course, of course," Fisk replied, a gentle smile gracing his face. "I've reviewed your qualifications, Lewis. You pursued a double major in Business and Computer Science at Caltech, correct?"

Lewis nodded. "Yes, sir, that's right."

"If I could provide you with the data that my organization has accumulated on H.I.V.E., would you be able to cross-reference that against Baron and Baron's client databases and discover how many of those individuals are serviced by your institution?"

Lewis frowned. "I could probably come up with an algorithm along those lines, yes."

Fisk's smile widened. "I shall have the information couriered to your home this evening. It will arrive between seven and nine. You will be there to sign for it." It was a statement, not a query. Lewis nodded.

"Excellent. And Lewis?" Outside the window, the sun dropped behind a cloud and the resulting shadow gave Fisk's smile a slightly sinister cast. "Should you find that those accounts have all been assigned to a single manager or management team… you will inform me?"

"Of… of course, sir," Lewis said, swallowing hard.

"Lewis," Fisk warned, his expression suddenly serious, "if it does turn out that there's a single person responsible for those accounts, I imagine that I'll be having my people set up a meeting with that individual. Nothing especially formal, you understand; just a nice quiet conversation. It's been my experience that such dialogues are at their most productive when the other party attends with no expectations or preconceived notions. I mention this only because I'm well aware that your firm is, at its core, a family business. The account manager might be some sibling, cousin, or other relation of yours. If so, I'm sure that you might want to allay any concerns by telling them the subject matter to be discussed at the meeting." He shook his head. "I'll take it as a courtesy if you would not." He nodded slowly for emphasis. "Do not reassure. Do not warn. Do not inform. You will provide me with a name, and I will take matters from there. Do we have an understanding?"

A now-pale Lewis closed his eyes and nodded twice. "Y-yes, Mr. Fisk. Of course."

Fisk smiled in satisfaction. "Good."

* * *

"When Nightwing said you were joining us tonight," Daredevil said to Batman, "I had my doubts, but I'm glad you're sounding better than you were a couple of days ago." He turned to Nightwing. "Why didn't you tell me Raven was a healer?"

Nightwing shrugged. "Raven gets around a lot," he said. "I didn't know she was in town until she reported to the Tower during the blackout. Is it such a big deal?"

"Sometimes I need to get back into action a little sooner than my body would like, too, you know."

"I hear _that_," Nightwing grinned. "I'll mention it to the team. I'm pretty sure they'll be cool with my giving you a direct line to the Monitor Room. If you need her, whoever's on duty will try to reach Raven. Understanding, of course," he added, "that Raven can't always be reached. Sometimes, she's away. Sometimes she's off doing the same stuff we all do." In an undertone, he added, "Sometimes her interdimensional demon father decides he wants some family bonding time and won't take 'no' for an answer."

Daredevil started to laugh. Then he realized that, despite his jocular tone, Nightwing was dead serious. "Right. Continue to rely on the Night Nurse unless it's a real emergency. Got it."

"You've fought Infomorph before," Batman cut in testily. "Do you have any means of tracking her location?"

"Vic and Oracle are doing that," Nightwing protested.

"No," Daredevil said. "He's right. They can follow her activity and narrow it down, but an IP address can include a lot of territory."

"And many times, it just points to the location of the service provider, not the user." Batman turned a bit more of his face toward Daredevil. "Well?"

Daredevil sighed. "Not really, but once they've got her whereabouts localized, I can pinpoint. See, she's pretty much a living program. Sophisticated, but she has… gaps in her mimicry when you know what to look for."

"I can turn on the automatic sprinklers in every building we burst into," Nightwing offered.

"Please, don't," Daredevil replied. "Besides, that only works if she's imitating me. There are other ways. Ways that won't make me feel like I just fought the Hulk if I'm in the target area. For example, if we crash a typical gathering, I'll notice heartbeats speeding up, increases in sweat and adrenaline, changes in breathing patterns… typical panic responses in most people. Infomorph can mimic the…" he struggled to find the right word. "…The um… surface characteristics perfectly. She'll make sure that her body language apes that of those around her. I've got it on good authority that she'll assume the correct facial expressions. _However,_ her heart rate will stay steady; her adrenaline won't increase… physiologically, there'll be no changes to her vital stats."

Batman sounded skeptical. "She can acquire her target's abilities and memories, but she can't perfect a panic attack?"

"She acquires data," Daredevil said. "Facts aren't colored by emotion; they just are. She can relate to that. But when it comes to emotions, I don't think she has a reference point. I'm a little outside my expertise, but I think it's more… if she acquires a memory, she'll break it down into 'who, what, where, when, why, and how'. And she'll note the emotions that go along with that memory. But she can only understand those emotions in the abstract; she doesn't experience them herself." He hesitated, remembering her cry of panic the other night. "Or, at least, not fully," he amended.

"So," Nightwing ventured, "it's like… 'That person bumped into me without apologizing. I should demonstrate anger by raising my voice and expressing threats and insults'?" He laughed. "Wasn't there a _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ episode like that?"

"Probably." Daredevil sighed. "Sorry I can't be more helpful."

Batman nodded. "It's a start anyway. We'll find her."

"I know." He frowned and leaned unconsciously to one side, listening intently for a moment. His frown deepened. "Mugging in Central Park. Five attackers, two scared victims. Not sure what kinds of weapons they've got."

"Guess we'll figure that out when we get there," Nightwing grinned. "Shall we?"

* * *

Returning to the scene of the crime was a dangerous prospect, but Infomorph had little choice. The data that Batman had removed from Baron and Baron was still at Titans Tower—at least, she fervently hoped so. If it wasn't, she could only pray that it had been electronically transmitted elsewhere; if it was downloaded to a portable data storage device instead, she might never be able to retrieve it. H.I.V.E had made it clear that they would not tolerate failure. They needed that data or she had little doubt that her contact would make good on his threat. She had no choice but to return to the building where she had so recently been captured and do her best not to run afoul of any of the costumed vigilantes, this time out.

Infomorph took her work seriously. She had a professional reputation to maintain and it was certain to be downgraded should she be unable to rectify the situation.

And if Fisk should discover her involvement…

For a moment, she paused in her analysis of the Tower's improved cybernetic defenses, as a glitch rippled through her, causing her body to flicker. All of the data she had compiled on Wilson Fisk told her that he was at least as dangerous and implacable a foe as was her current employer. If he joined H.I.V.E and the vigilantes in their hunt for her, then perhaps allowing herself to be encoded on a series of floppy disks would be the most merciful fate she could expect to meet...

* * *

The H.I.V.E. Commander sat at his desk and weighed his options. His organization had extensive experience with the Teen Titans and he forced himself to accept that Infomorph might well be unable to rectify her earlier failure. Were that to transpire, as much as he knew he'd enjoy making the AI suffer, he would still need to find some other way to acquire the data.

He called up a folder on his desktop, opened it, and clicked on one of the subfolders. As he went over the files within, he found himself nodding and smiling. He brought the first page back up:

**Screen Name: Ms Terious**

**Real Name: Amelia "Amy" Beddoes**

**Age: 16**

**Occupation: High School Student**

**Location: Terrebonne Parish, LA**

**Criminal Record: Clean**

**Criminal Charges Filed: Juvenile**

**Details: 2 counts cyber-piracy; 1 count cyber-hacking (theft of municipal records). **

**Disposition: Acquittal for LoE**

The commander's smile broadened. Those charges were relatively recent; filed within the last two years. It was much easier for a prosecutor to get a conviction now than it would have been a decade ago. Either the girl was innocent, or she covered her tracks well. She'd visited one of their sites, played some of their games-that-were-really-assessment-tests-in-disguise. He scrolled down to read how she'd scored on those and let out a low whistle. Beddoes had ranked in the top percentile on each of the fifteen tests. In four of them, she'd done so in less time than anyone else they had on file.

The real question though, was whether this whiz kid could hack her way into Titans Tower to retrieve that data.

He called up her psych profile and chuckled to himself. She liked a challenge and she enjoyed showing off, though not so much that she let herself get sloppy. She'd probably do it for the thrill. And if things went wrong, well, the Titans were hardly likely to use excessive force on a high school student. She'd get away without physical harm. And if the charges stuck this time, it wasn't as though H.I.V.E would hold it against her. He nodded to himself. If her profile was anything to go by, if the Titans caught her, she'd probably want to go up against their security again, just to prove that she could beat it. If so, particularly if she was able to transmit the data before the Titans caught up with her, H.I.V.E. could certainly find ample opportunities for her to do so in the future.

And the best part was that, by the time Amy Beddoes realized who it was she was working for, she'd be in so deep that it would be too late for her to walk away from them and virtually impossible for her to turn them in without implicating herself. The moment she consented to their proposal, she would be theirs for life.

The commander brought up a list of dummy corporations and scrolled through it. There should be a couple that were already dangling the proper bait to hook this fish. It only took him a moment to find one. He went back to the profiles, located Beddoes' email address, copied it, and pasted it into a new message.

_Hello, Amy_, he typed. _This is Jim Crenshaw of DataMine Inc. Recently, we sent you a series of computer games and puzzles. I am pleased to advise you that you have achieved one of the top scores in your state and have qualified for an advanced challenge. Should you successfully complete this challenge within the allotted timeframe, you will qualify to receive a $25,000 scholarship to the college of your choice! For more details, please reply to this email within the next seven days. And don't forget to check out our website at the link below. I look forward to hearing from you._

He hit 'Send' and settled back to wait for a response.

* * *

There were moments when Foggy actually believed Matt had the easier job. They were always fleeting and followed by exponential feelings of guilt and disbelief that he could ever think along those lines, but there were still moments. After all, when playing by the rules became too stifling, Matt could slip on a costume and go pound a few heads. Or torsos. Or whatever it took to put the bad guys temporarily out of commission.

To put them away for longer, though? That was where Foggy came in. Matt was brilliant in a courtroom. He could have a jury eating out of his hand. He knew all the right things to say. He had undeniable charisma. And if someone said something unexpected on the witness stand, Matt was able to roll with it, shift strategies, and carry the day, all while barely working up a sweat. (Which was probably for the best, since when that happened, Foggy usually sweated enough for both of them.)

When it came to planning and strategy, though, it was Foggy's turn to shine. Matt seldom had the patience to sit sifting through law books and old cases, looking for precedents that would work to their advantage. He might be able to figure out the most effective way to subdue a dozen ninja in a dark alley on the spur of the moment, but old-fashioned, plodding research was right up Foggy's alley. That wasn't to say that Foggy couldn't hold his own in court. He absolutely could. But he didn't have Matt's good looks, or easy charm to smooth the road. If he won a case, it was because he was able to convince a jury or judge on the strength of his arguments, not his silver tongue. It meant that he had to try that much harder.

And, of course, he usually had to try that much harder because Matt wasn't always in court when he planned to be—one of the many side effects of being Daredevil. Actually, it was good that Matt could think fast on his feet, because there were too many times when he had to leave the office in the middle of a brainstorming session to deal with a mugging-in-progress, or a Skrull invasion, or Stilt-Man trying to strike fear into the hearts of New Yorkers for the umpteenth time (and failing miserably, but sometimes you had to grudgingly respect a guy who refused to give up on his dreams of… municipal domination).

Sometimes, Foggy really did believe that Matt had the easier job. Like now, when he was off with Batman and Nightwing trying to put a dent in a couple of criminal empires, leaving Foggy to find some way to make patently inadmissible evidence admissible in a court of law. Maybe it was just that every time those guys felt like beating their heads against a wall, they decided to do it to some other guy instead.

Maybe, Foggy thought, _he_ ought to look into wearing a costume…

He snorted, shook his head in wry amusement, and reached for another law tome.

* * *

All in all, it was a decent night out. While they were no closer to taking down Kingpin or finding a way out of Bruce's legal issues, they did get the satisfaction of knowing that the streets were going to be a bit safer for the next little while.

It was only an hour or so before sunrise and they were about to go their separate ways—Bruce and Dick to the Ritz and Matt, most likely, to the office—when a number of alarms went off close by, startling the three of them and causing Matt to slap his hands against his ears with a barely-stifled cry.

"It figures," Nightwing sighed. "New York _is_ the City that Never Sleeps—and that goes for the art thieves, too. That alarm's coming from over there." He gestured toward the imposing castle across the street. "I mean, if it were Catwoman, _she_ would've been out of the Met by nine pm and spent the rest of the evening leading you on a rooftop chase. Not like these guys," he added, pointing toward a door that was even then closing shut.

"The sooner we take them down, the sooner we head back," Batman snapped, already aiming his grapnel. A moment later, the three vigilantes sailed across Fifth Avenue.

Once inside, they took a moment to get their bearings. "Any idea which way they went?" Batman demanded tersely, projecting so as to be heard over the still-ringing alarm.

Daredevil shook his head. "Can't hear much apart from that noise," he admitted.

"Can you manage?" Nightwing asked.

"Oh, yeah," Daredevil reassured him. "It'll just take some time before my ears stop ringing." He took a deep breath. "Let's split up. I'll cover the ground floor. And, when the police show up, I'll probably be the first person they encounter and they won't shoot me on sight. Once I bring them up to speed, they'll extend the same courtesy to you."

"They'd recognize Nightwing, too," Batman snapped.

"Maybe not," Nightwing admitted. "I've changed my costume a couple of times since I was last active here."

"Noted," Batman said, dropping the matter. "Nightwing, start on the first floor in Greek and Roman art and work your way clockwise. I'll work counter-clockwise and we'll meet outside the American Art Café. Daredevil, after you've spoken with the authorities, meet us there and we'll plan our next move."

"Got it."

* * *

It was true what they said, Nightwing thought with a certain ruefulness: a person could get used to just about anything. After about five minutes, the alarm klaxon no longer made his head hurt and he was able to concentrate on sweeping the rooms, looking quickly for anything out of place. So far, the exhibits were undisturbed, meaning that the thieves were probably here for something specific and knew exactly where to look for it. That wasn't something that thrilled him. People who knew what they were doing were less likely to make careless mistakes or take wrong turns.

He slowed down and scanned more intently, hoping to find some sort of clue.

Because the alarm was still ringing in his ears when he stepped into the hallway, he missed the sound of the rubber-soled boot tread behind him and didn't realize that there was a thing amiss until he felt the jab of a needle in his unprotected neck. He whirled immediately, trying to raise his escrima, but his arms had gone leaden and his knees were already buckling. He caught a hazy yellow blur before his world went dark and he slumped to the ground.

His assailant bent down and carefully peeled back an eyelid. "He's out," he announced.

Another H.I.V.E. operative nodded. "Get him into the elevator," he said. "Base cautions that our delaying tactics have just about run their course and the police will be here in five minutes. Our extraction team is in place on the roof."

"Roger that. Help me secure the package and let's get out of here." He chuckled darkly. "Let's find out whether the information on that hard drive is worth more to Batman than his partner's life..."


	15. Chapter 14

A/N: Thanks to Kathy and Debbie for the beta!

**Chapter 14**

Lewis Baron ran the data again for the fifth time and hoped against hope that the results would be different. He had to be jumping to conclusions, so afraid of a worst-case scenario that his own emotional state was making him see what he was dreading. There had to be other possibilities he was overlooking. As he looked at the fifth set of conclusions, though, he knew that there weren't. He'd run the program five times and each time, the results had been identical. He swallowed hard.

Fisk had cautioned him not to warn the guilty party and Lewis knew that the big man's friendly advice had been a direct order. He wouldn't, couldn't let the culprit know his activity had been discovered. All the same…

Lewis reached into his pocket for the burner phone he'd picked up a few weeks ago. He hadn't thought he'd need it, but it was one more gadget he thought that real secret agents might have, along with the mini-cameras, rear-view sunglasses, and cell phone voice-changer. "Aunt Pam?" he greeted the party on the other end. "I'm great! How are you? Listen, is there any way that you can convince my grandfather to visit you in Zurich anytime soon? Like… tomorrow? Aunt Pam, no, I can't tell you what's going on. I really can't. But it's important that he get out of the country fast and I can't tell him why. No, I haven't been reading too many Len Deighton novels; this is real. I'll explain later. But for right now… let's just say he's crossed the wrong people and he has to lie low and… and I'm being watched. _No_, I haven't seen too many James Bond movies! Please. Yes, I promise it's real. And don't tell him any of this until he's out of the US. Yes, I'm being serious. Thank you, Aunt Pam."

He ended the call and exhaled in relief. He'd convinced his aunt. Now, he had to hope that she could convince his grandfather.

* * *

"Nightwing, report!" Batman repeated. While Daredevil couldn't see the expression on his face, he picked up not only on the tension in the other man's voice, but on the spike in his heart rate. Batman turned to him.

"Can you detect him?"

Daredevil shook his head. "Not that that means anything," he added. "This place is about two million square feet, spread over five main floors, a mezzanine, and a parking garage. My hearing's good, but it's got limits."

One of the police officers approached. "How much longer are you going to need?" he asked respectfully. "We'd like to secure this scene before CSI gets here."

Daredevil nodded. "I understand. We won't be long."

"We'll be as long as we need to be," Batman growled.

The officer spoke up again. "If we find your missing man, is there a way to contact you?"

For a moment, Daredevil worried that Batman would insist on conducting a room-to-room search. Understandable, but police respect for vigilantes in this city only extended so far. He had a good working relationship with the NYPD, but he'd had years to prove himself. And while Batman might have a similar relationship with the Gotham City police, that wouldn't mean much here in Manhattan. For a moment, the tension was palpable. Then the other vigilante took a breath and let it out. "Contact the Titans," he snapped. "They'll inform us."

The officer nodded. "Will do." He turned to go back to his fellows, but stopped and faced them once more. "It's possible he spotted someone fleeing the scene and left in pursuit," he suggested. "Radio signals can be a bit spotty in parts of the subway system, I know."

Batman shook his head. "He would have advised us if that were the case," he said with strained civility. "If he were able," he added.

There was that heart rate spike again. Daredevil cleared his throat. "Would there be a problem if we scouted around outside?" he asked. "Nightwing might not have reported if he wasn't leaving the grounds."

The office considered. "CSI's going to need to check the exteriors, as well," he replied. "But I can ask them to start indoors."

Daredevil nodded. "We appreciate that. Thanks."

* * *

"No doubt about it," Daredevil said grimly. "I smell Jet A. That's aviation turbine fuel. Someone flew a helicopter here. Can't tell if they landed it or just hovered overhead, but given how strong the fumes still are, they were here within the last hour, two hours tops."

He and Batman were in the Cantor Roof Garden. Batman was kneeling on the stone surface holding a device in front of him and moving it slowly in a wide arc. Daredevil couldn't tell whether it was some sort of computer, a radiation gauge, or just a flashlight. All his senses told him was that it was roughly the size of a television remote, and that it emitted a faint whirr that was likely undetectable to any ears save his own.

"Four people," Batman said tersely. "If they took Nightwing, he wasn't conscious, or he would have found some way to alert us." He sucked in his breath.

"You found something else?" Daredevil asked.

Batman was silent for a moment. "Oracle," he said, ignoring the question. "I'm sending you a photograph of a partial boot print. Cross-match and report."

Batman's radio transmitter was excellent, Daredevil reflected. He actually had to strain to hear Oracle's reply. "Bet you wish you could just drive back to the Cave and run this yourself, huh?"

He didn't rise to the bait. "Nightwing is missing," he snapped. "The print belongs to one of the parties likely responsible for it."

Oracle became serious at once. "I'm on it. But I have to tell you, I'm pretty sure I know that pattern. And I'm pretty sure you do, too."

"Be positive," Batman replied. "I'm not about to embark on a wild goose chase, because we both missed some detail."

"Roger that, B," Oracle said at once. "Stand by."

The seconds stretched to minutes and ticked past with agonizing slowness. Daredevil tried not to feel ignored. Batman clearly had other things on his mind, and from what Daredevil had observed, he clearly wasn't much for small talk at the best of times—which this, most emphatically, was not. Normally, Daredevil would have preferred things that way. Too much chatter was a distraction when he was trying to take in everything that his hypersenses were relaying. When he'd already completed his investigating, and the silence stretched on, and he was positive that he could _feel_ Batman glowering, it was just uncomfortable. He was beginning to wonder how often Batman actually needed to resort to threats or violence when interrogating suspects. Maybe it was enough to stand there silently and exude menace.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, but was really more on the order of five minutes, Oracle came back online. "No doubt about it, Boss-man," she said, with a serious undercurrent belying her chipper tone. "The boot that made that print belongs to a H.I.V.E. agent. Custom design, not sold in stores, and unless they donate their old uniforms to Goodwill, there's no plausible reason for that footwear to be found in anyone else's possession. It's H.I.V.E."

Batman exhaled. "Copy that, Oracle. Daredevil believes that they left the Met via helicopter within the last two hours. See what you can turn up. We'll do what we can from here."

"Roger that, B. Stay safe." Then, with a note of amusement, "That goes for you, too… D."

Under his mask, Matt's eyebrows shot up. "Tell her, 'thanks,'" he said with a faint smile.

"I already closed the channel," Batman returned. "Let's go."

"Go," Daredevil repeated, even as he unholstered his billy-clubs. "Go where?"

Batman was readying his grapnel. "Back to the hotel. I may have a way to locate Nightwing in the Batmobile." He hooked a nearby flagpole and swung off the rooftop.

"Wait," Daredevil said, as he followed suit. "You parked your car at the hotel? Isn't that a bit conspicuous?"

"No," Batman replied, and now there was a hint of a smile in his voice. "Not necessarily…"

* * *

Nightwing was sure that he would never quite shake the initial feeling of panic, any time that he was immobilized. When his parents had taught him acrobatics, they had stressed the importance of safety to him, warning him that mistakes could result in death or paralysis. The thought of being unable to move freely filled him with more horror than the thought of dying.

Not to confuse his fear of paralysis with a fear or aversion to others in that circumstance, no more than a fear of fire would translate into an aversion to barbecue chefs or glassblowers. When Barbara had been shot and paralyzed by the Joker, it hadn't even occurred to him to look at her differently. She was still Barbara, with or without the use of her legs. He only wished that she believed it when he told her as much, but he held out hope that, one day, she would.

Meanwhile, he couldn't move and he couldn't see. There was a rough cloth sack—probably burlap—over his head. He could breathe without difficulty, which told him that he was probably in a darkened room, since the weave of the fabric was loose enough to allow him sufficient air, but no light filtered through it. Thick straps around his biceps, elbows, and wrists held his arms to his sides. There were additional straps at his knees and ankles. He fought back his involuntary panic. He wasn't paralyzed. He was just tied up—something that once happened so regularly that it was a wonder he hadn't gotten used to it by now. His lips twitched. Maybe the problem was that he'd gotten better at not getting captured as he got older. He was out of practice. Darned enhanced skill levels tripping him up, heh.

Now, how had he gotten into this predicament again? He tried to think back. He'd been at the Met, and there had been that stabbing sensation, and then…

…then he'd woken up here. Wherever here was. It was dark and noisy and he couldn't move about to try to get his bearings or find a light switch or…

_You're still edgy because you're immobilized. You know better. Come on. Deep breath. Remember the meditation techniques Bruce taught you. Calm down. You've been in plenty worse situations than this one. Didn't you used to joke to Bruce that you could probably handle most situations with your eyes closed? Now's your chance. And before you start thinking it can't be done, remember who you've been palling around with for the last few days. Now, maybe you haven't got his enhanced senses, but you should still pay attention to what they're telling you. _All_ of them._

He couldn't move his body, but his body was moving. He was in some kind of vehicle. The noises he was hearing… Part of that was an engine sound. And… was that a propeller? Helicopter. He was lying in the cargo area of a helicopter. And that meant it wasn't some private pleasure craft—those cargo bays were _tiny_. No, this was probably military—or military surplus. _Or _military_ stolen_! He clenched his teeth. He couldn't be sure for now, wouldn't be sure unless they either took the bag off his head or were stupid enough to name-drop their organization while they were within earshot, but he was willing to bet that he'd been taken by H.I.V.E.

He smiled then. If that were the case, well, he'd dealt with H.I.V.E. before. And by now, Batman and Daredevil were probably hot on the trail. He knew that he was probably wearing some kind of transponder. Batman had given him a lot of gear and Dick knew that most of Bruce's gifts came with strings attached. Or, at least, homing beacons. All the same, he wasn't about to lie placidly and wait to be rescued. He listened more carefully. He wasn't sure, but he thought he was alone in here. If he wasn't, he imagined he'd find out in short order. Nightwing flexed and pointed his fingers and focused on accessing some of the tools he carried concealed in the wrist compartments of his gauntlets.

* * *

"Something tells me," Matt said slowly, "that this isn't a standard Lincoln Continental." The two men had changed back into civilian attire, rather than risk being spotted in costume on the hotel garage's cameras—which would doubtless have left security wondering what business two well-known vigilantes had with Mr. Wayne's car.

Bruce had been about to unlock the door, but he stopped and lowered the remote. "What specifically?" he asked, sounding curious.

Matt shrugged. "I know what you called it before and I doubt it was a slip of the tongue. But more than that," he added, lifting the hand he'd been resting on the chassis, "this metal feels different from the norm. Let me guess: bullet-proofed and heat-resistant?"

"Cold-resistant, too," Bruce nodded. "In addition, the car has a hydrofoil mode. It can't actually fly, but it's been equipped with glider wings. And, the touch of a button will modify the exterior to something more appropriate for my… nighttime activities."

"And you would have made modifications to the engine, too, I'm guessing?"

"Naturally," Bruce replied, with a hint of smugness. He raised the remote again and unlocked the two front doors. "Get in," he directed. "You can push the seat back far enough to give you to room change into costume. The windows are tinted for a reason. I'll convert the car to Batmobile-mode once we're away from the hotel."

"Isn't that risky in broad daylight?" Matt asked.

"Not in traffic," Bruce explained. "Once we're moving, we're one more car on the road. When I make the switch, the license plate switches too. And I took the precaution of registering the Continental to a numbered corporation." Matt whistled. "I've been doing this for a long time, Murdock," Bruce said with a hint of good humor. "I know how to hide a trail. Get into costume. We'll get underway as soon as we're dressed."

By the Matt had complied, Bruce was already in costume with his seatbelt on. He turned on the engine. "I can't access the onboard computer when parked," he explained. "Nightwing has more than a couple of transponder beacons secured in his costume and gear. Hopefully, that means that we'll be able to track him. However, as Nightwing could be well outside the city limits by now, it'll probably take a few minutes before the computer spits back a location, so we might as well drive. Do you have a destination you'd recommend?"

Daredevil considered. "Well, seeing as we're dressed for it…"

"Yes?" Batman prompted when Daredevil didn't continue.

Daredevil smiled. "I've got to admit I'm partial to the Chrysler building. It's not the highest building in Manhattan, nor the quietest, but I guess you could call it the freest. It's… sort of hard to explain."

Batman put the car into drive. "GPS programmed… ETA… twelve minutes. Don't get your hopes up, though," he cautioned. "Once the computer has a lock on his coordinates, if he's no longer moving, we're following. But if he's still airborne," he sighed, "I can't follow on the ground until it lands."

"Let me guess. You didn't bring a plane."

Batman was silent for a moment. "I can borrow one from the Titans," he admitted. "Under the circumstances, I may have to. But until we have something to work with," he continued, "I might as well get better acquainted with this city, in case I'm ever back this way again."

* * *

His wrists were free. The mini saws in the fingers of his gauntlets had taken care of that. Unfortunately, the blades were two short to reach the straps at his elbows. He tried flexing his arms and encountered something flexible with some give. With a costume that covered his skin from the neck down, he couldn't be positive, but he guessed that it wasn't just his head that was covered in fabric. They'd probably stuffed the rest of him into a burlap bag, too. Fortunately, they'd been content with tying him up before encasing him; they didn't seem to have added any additional ropes or straps outside the bag. That was helpful.

Nightwing frowned, listening to the engines and focusing on the motion of the copter. It didn't seem to show any signs of slowing and it appeared to be maintaining a moderately steady altitude. They were going to have to land before they could get him off; there was no way that they'd risk hauling him down a rope ladder from a hovering craft when he might struggle. Which meant that he had a bit of time to get free before anyone was likely to detect his activity.

Unless, of course, they meant to simply drop him out of the cargo bay in mid-flight. Which meant that he _definitely_ had to get free sooner, rather than later. He turned the mini-saws on his fabric prison and set about emerging from the burlap cocoon.

By the time they'd reached the Chrysler building, the Batmobile's onboard computer had located Nightwing's transponder signal. The helicopter was headed upstate, though it was premature to guess at its final destination.

"It's doubtful that they're going to land within any city's limits," Batman said tersely. "It's more likely that they have a base in some unpopulated area."

"I agree," Daredevil said. "So, what now?"

Batman started the engine again. "You weren't counting on taking another jaunt around the city, were you?"

"I suppose not," Daredevil admitted. "I thought it might help settle some thoughts, but it's not really necessary." He carefully refrained from saying _whose_ thoughts. It was clear to him that Batman and Nightwing were more than business associates, teammates, or even best friends. They were father and son. Perhaps not biologically, though it wouldn't really have surprised him if they were, but in every other way that counted. And as much as Batman tried to pretend that he wasn't frantic with worry, as much as he employed techniques that Daredevil recognized to steady his heartrate and breathing so that his stress wasn't as evident, every so often, that control faltered. Daredevil wasn't about to broach the subject. The other man didn't strike him as much for discussing his feelings and probing them would likely earn him a blistering retort and a silence thick enough to cut with a knife. Or a batarang. He'd only suggested an aerial tour of the city because he'd thought it might work as a stress-reliever. But now that they had a fix on Nightwing, Daredevil knew that Batman wouldn't rest until he knew that Nightwing was safe and H.I.V.E had been neutralized. In that order.

"So, I'm guessing that the glider function on this car won't allow us to pursue," he said. "Any ideas?"

Batman nodded. "The Bat-plane may be back in Gotham, but, as I mentioned earlier, the Titans should have something we can use."

"Call ahead and find out," Daredevil said, nodding. "If, for some reason, you're wrong, I've got some friends I could probably persuade to loan us a Quinjet." He paused for a beat. "Once they realize I won't be piloting it, that is…"

He wished he could discern whether the other man had cracked a smile.

* * *

Nightwing wondered whether he was losing his touch. It had taken him almost a full fifteen minutes to get loose and free of the bag. When he'd been Robin, taking ten would have gotten him benched from night patrol and sentenced to escapalogy drills in the Cave, until he either got his time down to a level that Batman considered acceptable or Alfred interfered. And Alfred rarely interfered. Nightwing suspected that the older man hadn't generally been opposed to an exercise that ensured that 'Young Master Dick' would be safe on the estate grounds, rather than leaping off of downtown skyscrapers while dodging bullets and Smilex bombs. On the other hand, Alfred had also hated to see his young charge miserable. Dick knew that if he waited three to five days, then audible sighs, puppy dog eyes, and an apparent loss of appetite (apparent, so long as Alfred didn't happen upon the shoebox Dick kept in his bedroom closet that concealed a stash of energy bars, dried fruit, and trail mix against such eventualities) could generally be counted on to get Alfred to put in a good word on his behalf to Bruce.

No doubt about it. Either Dick was slipping, or H.I.V.E. was getting better. He hoped it was the former. If he needed to get his skills back up, he could take the time to work on them. But if H.I.V.E. was improving, that was more worrisome for the long run. At the moment, though, he had a more pressing situation.

He activated his radio, taking care that he was on a secure channel. "O?" he whispered. "You there?"

"For you?" Barbara replied at once. "Always. You know, you're a pretty popular guy, right now. I know a couple of capes who are hot on your tail in a borrowed Titans jet at the moment."

"Nice to know they care," Nightwing smiled. "And at least they can tell where they're going. I'm in a helicopter's cargo bay, right now. A big one. No clue where I'm headed, though."

"Question of the hour," Barbara murmured. "I'll see what I can come up with, though. H.I.V.E. reached out to me a little while ago. They made me an offer that they didn't think I could refuse. Maybe I'll take their bait."

"Be careful."

"Respectfully, Former Boy Wonder?" she replied sounding amused, "I'm not the one who got nabbed at the Met by H.I.V.E. and stuffed into a helicopter. Pots and kettles, N. Pots and kettles."

Nightwing laughed. "Okay, Red. You got me. Let B know I'm still alive?"

"Just like old times," Oracle laughed back. "Using me to run interference, so you don't have to face a lecture about getting careless. Yeah, I'll take the heat for you, but you might want to stay out of Hell's kitchen from now on."

"Funny," Nightwing shot back. "That's not what Daredevil told me."

Barbara laughed and closed the channel. Dick smiled, turned on his flashlight, and began exploring his surroundings in earnest.

* * *

The H.I.V.E. Commander was having a very good evening. He'd just received confirmation that his agents were on their way in with cargo in tow. That was excellent news. Taking on the Titans as a team was a risky venture under the best of circumstances. Corralling one of them alone, on the other hand, could be managed with far better odds. And, after all, Nightwing was neither meta nor alien. At the end of the day, like any of them, he was a guy in a costume with a bunch of fancy toys. Alone, he was no match for H.I.V.E. and _their _toys.

He checked his incoming messages and the smile on his face grew bigger. Amy Beddoes had taken the bait. He logged into his 'Jim Crenshaw' profile and started composing another email.

_Welcome, Amy!_

_The following exercise is a simulation. _

Be friendly, he reminded himself. Be personable. Sound 'hip'. She's a kid. Use slang. He continued typing.

_Your mission (should you choose to accept it, ;-) ;-)…) is to test the electronic security at a high-security installation. You are to break into their data banks, conduct a search for files containing the following names, copy all files meeting the criteria, encrypt them, and forward them to me at this address._

He quickly assembled a list of companies—most of them H.I.V.E. shell corporations (it never hurt to see how many of those covers could be easily blown. If Beddoes was already hacking the Titans' systems, he might as well get as much bang for his buck as he could), and added Baron and Baron to it. Now, what was a reasonable amount of time to give her? He considered. If she was as good as she seemed on her profile, she wouldn't need much time. And if she had too much time on her hands, she might start examining the files she'd retrieved and try to see whether there was a common thread. Couldn't have that.

_You have thirty-six hours to complete your mission. Good luck!_

_Jim_

He reread the message and frowned. It needed more chatspeak. Another winking emoticon? No, that was probably too much. He thought for a moment and added a 'TTYL' above his signature. It looked a bit silly to him, but if it put the whiz kid at ease, he didn't particularly care.

Smiling, he moved his cursor to the 'Send' button and clicked his mouse decisively.

* * *

When the 'copter landed, it was almost a full fifteen minutes before Nightwing heard someone at the cargo bay hatch. He couldn't say it surprised him. He and H.I.V.E. had an extended history. They were probably assembling one hell of a welcoming committee. Pity he wasn't interested in checking out the accommodations they'd likely prepared for him. He double-checked his position, making sure that he would be out of eyeshot of whoever was about to come through that hatch, as the door slid open.

Two H.I.V.E. operatives clambered in and regarded the prone figure on the floor wrapped in burlap. "Looks like he's still out," one said. "We might not have to give him that second dose."

"You want him coming to while we're carrying him down the corridors? You've never fought him, I have. And believe me, you don't want to take any chances with this guy. We keep him out and under until he's safely under lock and key."

As the operative spoke, he drew closer to the burlap-wrapped figure. "Keep your weapon trained on him in case he's playing possum. Good thing this stuff's intramuscular. I'd hate to have to waste time looking for a vein on this guy."

In the shadows, Nightwing watched. He was too professional to laugh, but he couldn't quite hide his smile. Cargo holds often turned up some interesting items and an assortment of floatation devices, tripods, rolled tarps, and other materials could be cobbled together into an effective decoy—at least, when the lighting was this lousy.

An instant later, the kneeling operative gasped. "Hey! How—?"

In the time it took him to utter those two syllables, Nightwing had the second operative disarmed, cuffed and gagged. The first swung about—and earned a boot to the face for his trouble. A moment later, he was as helpless as his companion. Nightwing grunted a bit as he pulled them further into the cargo bay. "You know," he said slowly, as he stooped to pick up the syringe that the first operative had dropped, "I was a little worried that once I was out of here, you guys might try banging on the walls to alert your friends. Nice of you to bring something in with you that'll help keep you quiet. Besides," he added, as he rolled up one operative's sleeve, "I think it'll be easier for me to stay inconspicuous if I borrow a H.I.V.E. suit. And since you look like you're about my size…" He rubbed the yellow fabric speculatively between thumb and forefinger for a moment before he injected the sedative.

There were six more operatives outside the 'copter. Nightwing dealt with them quickly and efficiently. Less than five minutes later, all eight were safely locked in the cargo hold. It wouldn't keep them for long and their absence might even be noted sooner, but meanwhile, he was free to explore and one guy in a bee suit looked much like another—especially when the visor in his face mask was tinted black, making it impossible to see the person beneath.

As long as he didn't do anything overtly suspicious, he could probably stay hidden in plain sight for a little while.

Bruce was likely still worried, but Dick wasn't going to risk communication from the heart of a H.I.V.E. base. Using a secured channel in a military-type helicopter was one thing. Sending out an unauthorized signal from an enemy stronghold—an enemy that had, in the past, demonstrated a fair bit of technological savvy—stood too great a chance of exposing him quickly.

And besides, according to Barbara, Bruce was already on the way. Which meant, Dick reflected with a smile, that he didn't have long to tidy things up before he got here. Hardly the behavior of a good host, he thought. Alfred would be horrified.

He squared his shoulders, checked his reflection as best he could in the glass of the helicopter door, and headed into the base.

* * *

"He should have signaled us," Batman muttered.

"It might not be safe," Daredevil replied calmly. "You know that."

"If I knew that were the reason," Batman snapped, "I'd be less concerned. Unfortunately, I don't. And this plane should have a cloaking field. If they'd come to me and asked—"

Daredevil sighed. "I realize that this probably sounds weird coming from me, but hindsight _is_ 20/20. And you should be keeping one thing in mind at all times." He waited.

"And what's that?" It was almost a growl.

Daredevil smiled. "You trained him. I'm pretty sure he's fine."

Batman let out an explosive breath. "We'll know soon enough. Meanwhile," he pulled a lever and Daredevil gripped the edges of his seat cushion as the plane dropped significantly in altitude before levelling off. "Sorry," Batman grunted, not sounding sorry at all. "Without a cloaking shield, our best chance at avoiding detection is staying low and flying under their radar. We're probably not inside their range yet, but we will be in less than ten minutes."

"Noted. Anything I can do?"

Batman pulled a lever and the plane banked sharply. "Sit tight and don't talk."

Daredevil nodded. That much, he could do.

* * *

In the H.I.V.E. control room, one of the drones signalled her commander. "There," she said, pointing to a faint blip on her scope. "They're coming in low, trying to sneak past our radar."

The commander nodded. "Not one of ours," he replied. "Can we ID it?"

"Negative. ADS-B isn't returning an aircraft number and nothing overheard on Schenectady Air Traffic Control's frequencies. Doesn't sound as though they've picked it up."

"And this base isn't on any commercial flight paths," the commander said slowly. "I suppose it could just be a private craft that didn't file a plan or went off-course, but they're flying far lower than they ought to be." He took a deep breath. "We can't risk detection. Lock onto target and prepare missiles for launch."


End file.
